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THE KING’S 
BLUE RIBAND 


BETH ELLIS 


















THE KING’S 
BLUE RIBAND 


BY 


tX^ETH ELLIS 

AUTHOR OF 

“the moon of bath”; “madam, will you walk?” 

“BARBARA WINSLOW, REBEL*’ 



HODDER & STOUGHTON 
NEW YORK 

GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 


Copyright, 1912, by 
George H. Doran Company 



©CI.A33048B 


TO 

ALL LUSTY BACHELORS 
WHO DEFY THE 
FATES 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I A Man^s Dream 1 

II A Woman and Reality 9 

III Fortune's Verdict 27 

lY Rivals for a Woman — Gold ... 30 

V ^‘The One Woman in the World’’ . 42 

VI The Wooing O’t 48 

YII A Coup de Grace 56 

YIII The Company of the Masquers . . 68 

IX The Bargain 79 

X The Love of a Lady 84 

XI A Masquer’s Frolic 101 

XII A Vision of Tragedy Ill 

XIII The Counterfeit Traitor .... 117 

XIV The Lackey of the Princesse d’Har- 

COURT 124 

XV The Pitifulness of the Little 

Duchess 133 

XVI The Dispatches of the Due de Ven- 

DOME 145 

XVII The Outfacing of Chamillart . . . 156 

XVIII Within Sight of Success .... 165 

XIX Nemesis 179 

XX The Gratitude of the Little Duchess 185 
XXI Flight 194 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XXII Defiance 202 

XXIII A Haven of Peace 217 

XXIV A Truce 229 

XXV A Farewell 239 

XXVI The Losing of the Blue Riband . . 248 

XXVII Betrothed 265 

XXVIII In the Hands of the Masquers . . 280 

XXIX The Winning of the Blue Riband . 290 

XXX A Bachelor the Less 298 


THE KING’S 
BLUE RIBAND 


) 


CHAPTER I 


A man’s dream 

“Where’er she be, 

That not impossible she 

That shall command my heart and me.” 

S IR ANTHONY CLAVERTON stood in the window 
of the Gamecock Club and gazed moodily out upon 
St. James’s. The prospect was dreary. A steady driv- 
ing rain stretched like an unbroken sheet of water be- 
tween the grey sky above and the grey mud below. The 
gutter ran foul with slime and refuse; the mud in the 
roadway splashed up to the horses’ bridles and bespat- 
tered the chairmen from head to foot. The few pedes- 
trians — porters, hawkers, and the like — slouched grimly 
along with misery writ large on their countenances. As- 
suredly on such a day it was well with him who was 
warmly housed, and so thought Sir Anthony, compla- 
cently contrasting the blustering discomfort without with 
the quiet and warmth of the club-room. 

And yet for him this contrast was not without its dis- 
turbing elements. As he looked round the comfortable 
room he was conscious of an uneasy questioning as to 
how long he would be numbered among those who en- 
joyed the privileges of the Club, who lived days of ease 
and leisure with guineas in their pockets and ruffles at 
their wrists ; how long it might be before he, too, would 
be driven forth to tramp willy-nilly through wind and 
rain for lack of that gold which oils the wheels of life. 

For the past year Fortune had turned her back upon 
one who, from his earliest youth, had hitherto enjoyed 


2 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


her favours. In the winter, his house in Somersetshire 
had been burnt to the ground. In the spring, small- 
pox had ravaged his estate, carrying off his best tenants 
and leaving, in place of a flourishing little township, a 
ruined and deserted hamlet. The early summer was 
marked by the wreck of the East Indiaman Queen 
Anne^ and the loss of all the money he had invested 
in merchandise ; and now the failure of certain ventures 
upon the Stock Exchange rang the knell of his fortune. 
The same ill-luck had haunted him at cards; he had 
lost heavily of late, and only that morning in a tragic 
interview with his man of affairs, he had realised that 
nothing but immediate departure from London and the 
exercise of rigid economy for some years could save him 
from utter ruin. 

Now, Anthony Claverton was the most light-hearted 
and buoyant of mortals. True to the creed of the 
Corinthians, he had borne all his losses with equanimity, 
and even suffered the generally adopted sobriquet of 
‘"Job” with only a mild protest, but in his inmost heart 
he regarded the prospect before him with the deepest 
dismay. For eight years he had revelled in all the pleas- 
ures of London life, which to his happy disposition 
were ever fresh and alluring. Merry of heart, ready of 
tongue, steady of hand, he had won the love of his 
many friends and the respect of his few foes, and was 
counted one of the most popular men in the circle of 
St. James’s. To leave all this and retire to a dismal 
country village where would be no polish, no wit, no 
congenial companionship. . . . 

‘"Egad!” he muttered disconsolately, ‘H’d almost as 
lief marry.” 

For that was the alternative before him. He had 
applied for assistance to his sole relative. Lady Sophia 
Cardew, whose wealth and influence gave him every 
reason to expect with confidence either a substantial 


A MAN’S DREAM 


subsidy, or the securing of a well-paid post at Court. 
But the hard-hearted old lady — notorious scorner of 
Man as she was — ^had turned a deaf ear to her nephew’s 
persuasive eloquence, and shown herself oblivious to 
charms which would surely have melted any other fem- 
inine heart. Money, she agreed, he should have, but on 
one condition — let him journey forthwith into Glouces- 
tershire, woo and wed her god-daughter. Miss Sylvia De- 
fraine, and on the consummation of their union she would 
settle her fortune — ^upon his wife! 

To do him justice, Anthony Claverton had no intention 
of recouping his fortunes on such terms. Despite many 
amorous passages with the whilom toasts of the town, he 
shared with his friend, Peter Wildmore, a strong disin- 
clination for matrimony. And matrimony with an un- 
known, undeveloped country girl, possessing no stronger 
recommendations than a long purse and his aunt’s fa- 
vour, presented itself to him as the maddest prospect ever 
held out to a lusty bachelor. 

He was interrupted in his melancholy musings by the 
sudden bursting open of the door behind him and the 
boisterous entrance of a posse of men, headed by Sir 
Harry Ford. 

‘‘Ah-ha! Tony,” cried Sir Harry gaily. ‘‘Run you 
to earth! You old badger, what trail have you been 
hunting? You haven’t set foot in here for three 
days.” 

“Was it duns, Tony?” asked the Duke of Southwark 
sympathetically. 

“Stap me! if I don’t believe Tony’s in love,” inter- 
posed Patrick Ford triumphantly. 

A shout of incredulous laughter greeted the suggestion, 
only Sir Harry Ford receiving it with unmoved counte- 
nance. 

‘ ‘ And why not ? ” he asked solemnly. ‘ ‘ ’Tis the prop- 
erest occupation for a gentleman.” 


4 THE KING’S BLUE RIBANO 

‘‘But damned expensive/’ added Soames, with a 
grimace. 

The men broke up into twos and threes about the vari- 
ous card-tables. Anthony joined Lord Wildmore, who 
was playing with old Sir Simon Crosthwaite. The latter 
looked up at him with a malicious twinkle in his eyes. 

“Love is expensive, but marriage is monstrous profit- 
able, eh, Claverton? The world is topsy-turvy nowa- 
days. Your modern Perseus looks to Andromeda for 
rescue. ’ ’ 

“I haven’t the honour of the lady’s acquaintance,” 
answered Anthony good-temperedly. “Is she well-fa^ 
voured ? ’ ’ 

“It’s my belief well-dowered would be more to your 
taste,” answered Sir Simon drily. 

Anthony flushed. “I don’t understand you,” he said 
shortly. 

Sir Simon laughed. “You forget, my boy, that your 
revered aunt and I are — gossips. ’ ’ 

Anthony bit his lip with vexation; it annoyed him to 
think that his affairs, both financial and matrimonial, 
were the talk of the town. 

“In this matter you are misinformed,” he answered 
coldly. “There is no question afoot of my marriage.” 

Sir Simon turned to Wildmore. “I’ll wager you five 
hundred guineas Claverton weds a woman of property 
before three months are out,” he said coolly. “Will you 
take me?” 

“Not I,” answered Peter Wildmore promptly. “If a 
woman has made up her mind that Tony must marry, 
married he’ll be, there’s not a doubt of it. I know the 
resolution o’ the sex.” 

“Plague take you, Peter !”^cried Anthony aggrievedly, 
‘ ‘ do you take me for a born fool ? ’ ’ 

“No — for a melancholy victim,” answered Peter, with 
a sad shake of the head. 


A MAN’S DREAM 5 

^‘Here, Tony, come and join us,’’ cried Harry Ford. 
‘^We are cutting for guineas.” 

Nothing loth, Anthony joined the group round Sir 
Harry’s table. He felt that such a mildly exciting and 
eminently brainless occupation was suited to his worried 
spirits. At the first round he cut the queen of hearts, 
and pocketed a dozen guineas. 

‘^The sex is with you,” said Sir Simon over his shoul- 
der, with a grin. 

Again Anthony cut, and again the queen of hearts lay 
uppermost in his hand. A stir went round the table. 

‘‘A hundred to one he won’t do it again,” cried 
Soames. 

‘‘Taken !” said Harry, after a moment’s hesitation. 

The guineas were pooled, the cards went round. For 
the third time Anthony found himself staring down at 
the simpering face of the queen of hearts. 

“The devil’s in the cards,” cried Harry ruefully. 

Amazed laughter, cries of astonishment, rang through 
the room. Men broke into arguments about the law of 
averages, bets were offered and taken that it would not oc- 
cur again in twenty years, the event was entered solemnly 
in the record book. No great matter was required to 
arouse excitement among the habitues of the Gamecock 
Club. 

But to Anthony the affair assumed almost a ludicrous 
significance. It seemed to him that the cards were in- 
deed marking a turning point in his career, and that he, 
who had hitherto lived sufficient unto himself, looking 
upon women solely as amusing acquaintances or pretty 
fools, must henceforth learn to accept them as the moving 
power in his life, and walk blindfold in the fetters that 
the Fates should forge for him. 

So he sat silent, gazing down at the smirking queen 
with despair in his heart, till a renewed shout of laughter 
roused him to the realisation that his melancholy mien 


6 THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 

was exciting the amused comments of his companions. 

He flung down the cards and joined in the laughter. 

‘^Egad!’’ he cried merrily, ‘‘a rare jest of Fortune’s. 
The jade knows well I hold the sex enchanting at a dis- 
tance, but plaguy wearisome on closer acquaintance.” 

He left the club an hour later with Peter Wildmore, 
and carried his friend off to his rooms to dine. There 
was small sign of an empty purse about Anthony’s cham- 
bers, and the dinner he set before his friend was one 
well qualified to induce that mood of sleepy contentment 
which tones all the world into a soothing shade of pale 
rose-colour. 

But though the friends settled down to their pipes and 
wine with that outward air of sober meditation which 
befits two lusty bachelors whose dinner has been pre- 
pared by the hand of an artist, neither could at heart 
attain to the desired mood of peaceful repose. For Peter 
Wildmore was fully acquainted with Anthony’s anxieties, 
while knowing well that he would accept help from none 
of his friends, and the impossibility of serving him wor- 
ried the kindly little man. 

For some time they smoked in that silence bom of per- 
fect companionship, then suddenly Peter’s thoughts 
found reluctant expression. 

‘^You and I, Tony, have railed against matrimony till 
we are outlawed by the sex, but — plague take it ! ’tis an 
amazing commodious method of settling the duns. You 
— ^you won’t think of it — eh?” 

Anthony stared at his friend in genuine amazement. 
Then he leaned across the table and filled his glass. 

‘‘What! you, Peter?” he cried reproachfully. 

Peter shook his head sadly. “I never thought to see 
you fettered, Tony, but the Fates and a 'woman are the 
two things no man can fight against. Lady Sophia and 
the Fates have vowed you are to marry, and married 
you’ll be. Yet for the honour of our sex, Tony, don’t 


A MAN’S DREAM 7 

let ’em think it is their doing; wed willingly, if you must 
wed at all.” 

‘‘I can’t,” answered Anthony slowly. 

Peter sprang to his feet. ‘ ' What ! ” he cried, in a hor- 
rified voice, “are you in the toils already?” 

Anthony burst into a shout of laughter. “Not I, i’ 
faith! I count his freedom a man’s most precious pos- 
session. ’ ’ 

Peter vainly endeavoured to conceal his devout agree- 
ment with such a formula. He shook his head soberly. 
“Freedom and Beggary are evil bed-mates. And for 
the rest — why, look at Marsh, look at Dawson; many a 
man after three months of marriage lives free as a bach- 
elor.” 

“Yes,” said Anthony drily, “I’ve noted that, and I’ve 
avoided matrimony because I fancy I’ve a — a more 
gentlemanly notion of the bond than Jack Marsh.” 

“Seaton married for money,” urged Peter weakly. 

“And is like to be damned for it,” answered Anthony 
shortly. He rose and crossed to the fireplace, where he 
stood long silent, staring down into the glowing grate. 
At last he turned, his face slightly flushed, and looked 
at Peter. 

“A man has his dreams,” he said, almost apologetic- 
ally. 

Peter eyed him with dismay. ‘ ^ Who is she ? ” he asked 
bluntly. 

“I don’t know,” answered Anthony, with a low laugh. 
“I’ve not met her yet.” 

“But — but — plague take you, man — I” stammered 
Peter in bewilderment. 

Anthony silenced him with a gesture; a little smile 
played about his mouth, and a strange wistful look deep- 
ened in his eyes as he unburdened his heart to his friend. 

“For every man there lives somewhere in the world one 
woman who can give him happiness, and some day he will 


8 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


meet her and know the truth. Perhaps he will meet her 
too late ; perhaps she will be out of his reach — far above 
him or below him j perhaps she will need only his service 
and never his love ; but she is the one woman in the world 
who can satisfy his whole soul. If he marry any other 
woman he may know contentment or — hell, as the Fates 
decree, but there is only one woman who can bring him 
happiness. You and I, Peter, were always wont to play 
for the highest stakes — by your leave I’ll not barter my 
hopes of Paradise.” 

Peter smoked on meditatively for some time without 
making any reply; then he laid down his pipe and rose 
to his feet. 

^Hf that’s the faith that is in you, Tony, it’s not to be 
doubted you’ll count even beggary preferable to a gilded 
wedlock. And you’re right, man, you’re right. But 
mark this,” he continued solemnly, ‘‘Fortune has shown 
you her hand. ’Twas not for nothing you cut the queen 
of hearts three times to-night. The Fates themselves are 
against you; before the year is out you’ll wear the ring.” 

Whereupon Peter patted his friend consolingly upon 
the shoulder, cocked his hat, and straightway took his 
leave. 

But Anthony, after the departure of his guest, threw 
fresh logs upon the fire, and sinking into a chair by the 
hearth sat hour-long gazing silently into the flames, rapt 
in strange dreams of a woman peerless in beauty, daunt- 
less in courage, loyal as motherhood, — the one woman in 
the world for him — the woman he had never met. 


CHAPTER II 


A WOMAN AND REALITY 

‘When lovely woman stoops to folly.” 

S O long did Anthony lose himself in dreams that 
finally he fell asleep in earnest, and awoke in the 
cold of the morning feeling, as men who have spent the 
night in their chair will feel, namely, that dreams are 
very unsubstantial and unsatisfying, and that the hard 
question of debts, duns, and an empty purse is unpleas- 
antly pressing. Indeed, so unwontedly depressed did he 
feel by his troubles that, despite the early hour he roused 
his man and sent him round to the livery stables for his 
mare, hoping that a hard gallop in the country beyond 
Hyde Park might dissipate the gloom of his forebodings. 

Six o'clock, then, found him riding through the soft 
light of an April morning, across Hyde Park meadows, 
through Kensington, and out into the country beyond; 
but by no amount of hard riding or tense thinking could 
he find a way out of his anxieties. At length, however, 
hunger turned his thoughts into another channel, and 
realising that it was long past his accustomed breakfast 
hour, he was about to turn his horse and ride towards 
London when the Fates (that busy trio) again inter- 
vened. 

A sudden halting in his mare's paces told him that a 
stone was in her shoe. He dismounted to extract it, but 
as he was preparing to remount he came to a sudden 
pause, held rigid by a sound which proceeded from a 
dense thicket at his right hand, the sound of a woman 
sobbing bitterly. He turned and looked about him in 
amazement. 


9 


10 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


He was in the middle of a wide heath covered with 
heather, gorse and early shoots of bracken, interspersed 
here and there by small beech coppices. The sun had 
risen clear above the mists of morning and the air was 
fresh and invigorating. The silence of wide spaces 
was about him, broken only by the joyous song of the 
larks in the blue sky above him, and on earth by the bitter 
sound of a woman’s weeping. 

Anthony was utterly at a loss how to proceed. The 
place was very deserted, the nearest village, he judged, 
must be three miles away, he could see the church tower 
far away in the valley, rising from a huddle of red roofs. 
It must surely be some unwonted sorrow that could bring 
a woman so far from home to ease her heart with weep- 
ing. Anyway, it was none of his business ; he mounted 
quickly and turned to ride away. 

But the deep strain of romantic chivalry which was 
the keynote of his nature, made him again draw rein and 
pause. The place was so lonely, the contrast between the 
happy chorus of larks in the sunshine and the bitter 
weeping in the gloom was so piteous, he could not ride 
away with a quiet conscience and leave the woman to her 
fate. With a woful grimace he once more dismounted, 
slipped his bridle over a branch, and parting the thick 
tangle of bushes strode into the thicket in search of the 
mourner. 

The sudden change from bright sunshine to densest 
gloom made him blink and peer through the dimness, but 
in a moment the scene was clear before him. In the 
centre of the copse was a small stagnant pool, half over- 
grown with green weed, the uncovered water showing 
black and foul beneath the closely overhanging trees. 
Crouching at the edge, in an attitude expressing utter 
abandonment to her grief, was a woman, no peasant girl, 
but a lady of quality in silken hood and furred cloak, dis- 
ordered and fouled with mire. It was clear she had no 


A WOMAN AND REALITY 


11 


inkling of his near presence; her heavy sobs shook her 
from head to foot, all her senses were benumbed by her 
overwhelming misery. 

Anthony gazed at her for a moment in blank bewilder- 
ment. He had not expected to be confronted with such 
a problem as she presented. But he was never a man 
to delay action, however unpalatable. Quickly he 
crossed the intervening space to her side, and avert- 
ing his eyes from sight of her disordered grief, he said 
bluntly : 

‘ ‘ Madam, I think you are in trouble. My services are 
at your command.’’ 

The sobs ceased suddenly in a gasp of surprise. The 
woman lifted her head quickly and stared up at him. 
Then she rose slowly to her feet. 

‘‘Sir Anthony Claverton!” she faltered. “What — 
what do you want with me?” 

But Anthony stood gazing at her in silent consterna- 
tion. He had never dreamt of the horrible possibility 
that the weeping woman might be of his acquaintance. 
When he recognised the beautiful fair face and pathetic 
dark eyes of Mrs. Carew, one of the reigning toasts of the 
day, his deep amazement was only equalled by his em- 
barrassment. He had little experience of women, but 
he had a vague idea that woman’s tears are shed at will 
and usually with some ulterior object. One glance, how- 
ever, at her haggard and grief-stained face assured him 
that her weeping and the trouble that caused it were 
alike genuine. He did not know whether to apologise 
and withdraw, or to renew his offer of assistance. He 
stuttered and hesitated, waiting until she gave him some 
clue to his future action. 

But Louise Carew, after her first astonished cry, 
seemed equally uncertain what to do or say. The silence 
became oppressive. Anthony pulled himself together and 
tried to carry off the situation lightly. 


12 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


^‘Have you breakfasted, madam?” he asked, in as mat- 
ter-of-faet tones as he could command. ‘‘This country 
air sharpens the appetite.” 

“No,” she said slowly, with an obvious effort to speak 
calmly, “I have not yet eaten.” 

Anthony glanced at her shrewdly. That fact would 
account for her intense pallor, he thought ; possibly also 
for the violence of her sobs. 

“That must be remedied, madam,” he said cheerily. 
“May I fetch your coach and escort you to the nearest 
inn?” 

She turned her head. “I have no coach. I — I 
walked.” 

“Walked! From the village yonder?” 

“No,” she answered faintly, “from London. I — I 
have walked all night.” 

“The Holy Saints!” Anthony’s eyes were wide with 
astonishment as he stared down at the pallid, mud-be- 
spattered woman. He knew her reputation as one of the 
most luxurious, as she was one of the most extravagant, 
among the ladies of St. James’s. It was inconceivable to 
him that her words could be true. Yet her appearance 
bore testimony to the fact. 

Suddenly an explanation, a possible motive, for such 
an act flashed across his brain. His eyes twinkled, and 
he gave a soft laugh of amusement. 

“Egad! It was a w^ager? I’ll swear to it!” 

For a moment she stood silent, her face a study of con- 
flicting emotions. Then she gave a high strained laugh 
and nodded her head. 

“Yes, yes, a wager, of course ! How came you to know 
of it? And now you must leave me, or belike I shall be 
accounted to have lost it. Good day to you.” 

There was something strange, insincere, in her tone. 
She kept her tear-stained face always averted. An- 
thony eyed her suspiciously. 


A WOMAN AND REALITY 13 

‘‘What are the terms of the wager?’’ he asked doubt- 
fully. 

“Oh! to — to walk from London hither and back 
again, alone, in twenty-four hours,” she answered 
hurriedly. “So I must soon set forth once more — and 
without your company.” 

“But not without breakfast,” he cried in horror. 

“Oh, no, assuredly not. I shall break my fast pres- 
ently. And so — farewell. ’ ’ 

Anthony looked at her heavy, clay-covered shoes; he 
looked at her white face, so worn and haggard that even 
her beauty seemed faded. A great indignation seized 
him. 

“ ’Pon my soul! This is sheer madness! Why, 
madam, you are near swooning already, and I vow 
before I came your courage was spent. Mount my 
mare and ride back at least to Kensington and let the 
wager go hang!” 

“No, no!” she cried quickly, “you must leave me 
to return as I choose. I do very well as I am.” 

“Madam, you were weeping when I came,” he urged 
bluntly. 

She flushed. “A woman’s tears fall lightly, sir. I — 
I pray you, begone. I wish to be alone.” 

Anthony protested further, but she met all his argu- 
ments with the assertion that she desired his immediate 
departure. In courtesy he could remain no longer. 
Reluctantly he turned to leave her, but when he 
reached the end of the thicket he looked back at her 
where she stood at the edge of the dark water, and sud- 
denly a fear so horrible flashed through his brain that 
impulsively he strode back to her side, his face almost 
as white as her own. Whence the fear came he knew 
not — whether from the blackness and stillness of the 
pond, or from the dull despair in the eyes of the woman, 
but he knew on a sudden as certainly as though she 


14 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


had confessed the fact, that it was no mere jesting 
wager which had brought her alone to haunt this 
desolate spot, but a grim resolve to end her life in the 
dark silence of the water. 

He laid his hand firmly on her shoulder. ‘^This is 
no place for you, madam. You must come with me.’’ 

She looked up quickly and read his suspicions in his 
face. She dropped her head. 

“My affairs are my own. I am not accountable to 
you,” she muttered nervously. “I will remain here.” 

“Ido not leave you here, madam, ’ ’ he said resolutely. 

With a sudden movement she wrenched herself away 
and faced him defiantly. “Sir Anthony, by what right 
do you dare to interfere with my actions?” 

“The right which one who is sane has to protect one 
who has lost her wits,” he answered gently. 

She gave a bitter laugh. “Are you a judge of my 
unwisdom? Why, pray, should I not dispose as I will 
of my own life? ’Tis of little worth.” 

“Come, madam,” he urged gently. “Come into the 
sunshine and see how sweet a thing is life.” 

It seemed to him that for a moment her face softened, 
but she shook her head. “It is useless. There is but 
one thing for me to do. Leave me to do it.” 

But Anthony held his ground. “Look you, Mrs. 
Carew,” he continued argumentatively, “you are starv- 
ing, you are half swooning; you have sat so long look- 
ing at that damnable water that you are bewitched. 
Come your ways and have a good breakfast, and I war- 
rant me the world will wear a very different face anon. ’ ’ 

Her lips trembled. “No, I will not. I insist upon 
your leaving me,” she cried. 

“That I dare not do,” he said significantly. 

“I will not go with you,” she muttered obstinately. 

Anthony suddenly lost patience. “Good heavens, 
madam!” he cried angrily, “do you conceive I shall 


A WOMAN AND REALITY 


15 


have the slightest difficulty in taking you by forced’ 

She stared at him in amazement. ‘‘You would not 
dare ? ’ ’ 

“What else?’’ he answered coolly. “We are not in 
St. James’s now.” 

Quite suddenly, as she realised how helpless she was 
to move him from his determination, all her resolution 
left her. She covered her face ^ith her hands and 
began to cry quietly. Gently he put his arm through 
hers, and she suffered him to lead her away from the 
noisome pond into the glorious sunshine. He mounted 
her upon his mare, and walking beside her, set out in 
search of food and shelter. She did not speak, but he 
thought her face expressed a certain relief as they 
gradually left the copse further and further behind 
them. 

In a quarter of an hour they reach a farmhouse. 
It seemed strangely deserted. After repeated calls, a 
small girl appeared at the window above and an- 
nounced that the good-man and his hinds were out in 
the fields, the wife was away to market, and she was 
forbidden to admit strangers. She was a pretty child, 
with long red hair that fell almost to her knees, and 
strange dark eyes differing in colour. 

Anthony produced a guinea as proof of good faith, 
but though the little maid’s eyes glistened with excite- 
ment, she proved resolute in her refusal to admit them. 
Nothing daunted, however, he crossed the courtyard, 
and mounting the horse-block below the window, pro- 
ceeded to argue the matter at closer quarters. The 
child watched him with interest, and smiled down at 
him in friendly wise, but still reiterated. 

“You eanna come in.” 

“What’s your name?” asked Anthony bluntly. 

“Margery Fenwick, so please your honour.” 

“And are you alone?” 


16 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


For a perceptible instant she hesitated, then nodded 
a vigorous affirmative. 

Anthony assumed an expression of woe-hegone 
misery. 

‘‘We are starving, Margery. The lady is swooning 
for lack o’ food. Come down and open the door.” 

The child looked troubled. “Oh! I canna!” she 
cried. 

“Not for a golden guinea?” 

There were tears in her eyes, but she shook her head 
resolutely. 

“Not for a guinea and — a kiss?” pleaded Anthony, 
in a tone no woman had ever heard from him. 

The little girl looked down at his laughing eyes, his 
fair hair, his tall active figure. She hesitated, and was 
lost. 

“I canna open to you,” she said slowly, “but if you 
will come in I canna stop ye. And — there’s a ladder 
behind the rick.” 

With a laugh Anthony fetched the ladder, and mount- 
ing to the window put the child gently aside and 
climbed into the room. 

He found himself in a long narrow chamber, wain- 
scoted, and furnished with a degree of luxury and com- 
fort that contrasted strangely with the rough exterior 
of the farm. Anthony glanced round it in idle curi- 
osity, then followed the child to a door which opened 
on to a narrow cupboard stairway. 

Quickly he ran down the stairs and emerged into the 
big kitchen of the farm. Opening the outer door, he 
helped Mrs. Carew to dismount. She was shivering 
from head to foot, and swayed a little as she walked. 
He half carried her in and ensconced her in a corner of 
the settle, throwing fresh logs on to the hearth till the 
flames roared in the chimney. Then he turned to the 
child. 


A WOMAN AND REALITY IT 

^‘Now, Margery, we will breakfast. What have yon 
for the lady?” 

The little girl ran to a cupboard and eagerly pro- 
duced a loaf of coarse rye bread and a lump of cold 
bacon. Anthony glanced from this unappetising re- 
past to the drooping figure on the settle, and grimaced 
dismally. 

‘‘Have you no eggs?” he asked, with a sudden in- 
spiration. 

“Belike there are some in the hen-house.” 

“Then go bring them, and a can of milk.” 

The child ran off obediently, and returned presently 
with half a dozen eggs. Anthony took off his coat and 
laid it carefully on a chair, then having dispatched 
Margery on a further errand, he turned and looked at 
Mrs. Carew. She was leaning forward on the settle, 
her hands locked tightly together, her brooding eyes 
fixed on the flames. It was evident her thoughts were 
far away, still wandering in those gloomy regions from 
which he had sought to rescue her. He frowned and 
strode across to her side. 

“Madam, have you ever made an omelette?” he 
asked bluntly. 

She started, and turned to him in amazement. He 
stood smiling down at her cheerfully, for all the world 
as though no dark recollections lay between them. 

“An omelette?” she echoed blankly. 

He repeated his question. 

She shook her head. 

“Never in my life.” 

“Then, for Heaven’s sake, madam, do not lose this 
priceless occasion to learn! I am about to make one.” 

He held out his hand, and half unwillingly she rose 
to her feet and suffered him to lead her to a chair near 
the large table. Then, chattering grandiloquently 
about his work, he proceeded to surround himself with 


18 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


pots and basins. He felt all the time intolerably fool- 
ish, but holding the belief that if a man can laugh mis- 
fortune takes wing, he was content to play the fool if 
he could but win a smile from his stony-eyed compan- 
ion. 

‘‘You will note, madam,” he continued elaborately, 
“that in cookery, as in life, the same maxim is to be 
observed, to wit: ‘You cannot make an omelette with- 
out breaking eggs.’ ” 

He emphasised his words by a comprehensive sweep 
of his arm, and accidentally knocked an egg to the 
ground with a crash. He muttered an imprecation at 
his clumsiness, but the faintest shadow of a roguish 
smile curved the red lips of Louise Carew. 

“I perceive, sir,” she said drily, “you intend that 
the omelette shall be made. May I enquire with what 
object?” 

“I cannot tell as yet,” he answered briskly, much en- 
couraged by this glimpse of the Louise Carew he had 
hitherto known. “It may be for our sustenance, or 
simply for your admiration, or mayhap for the suste- 
nance and admiration of the pigs — as my hand retains 
its cunning and the Fates decree.” 

She watched him curiously, as his strong capable 
hands busied themselves over his unaccustomed task. 
His broad athletic figure looked so strong beneath the 
soft silk shirt, and in the pale April sunshine the clear 
profile of his resolute mouth and chin stood out against 
the dark background of the wainscot. He seemed to 
her essentially a man equal to all emergencies, ready to 
face with confidence each turn of Fortune‘s wheel. 
She looked away and sighed. Anthony glanced at her 
anxiously. 

“Fie, madam, here’s no time for sighing,” he said 
briskly. “You and I are blessed by Fortune. While 
our friends in St. James’s are setting forth on the 


A WOMAN AND REALITY 19 

eternal pacing of the Mall, we are drinking the sacred 
spirit of adventure.’’ 

^‘Adventure!” she repeated with a touch of bitter- 
ness. 

‘‘Assuredly. We do not know why we are here, we 
do not clearly know how we shall return. We certainly 
do not know whether we shall have any breakfast. 
Can you deny that we are treading close on the heels 
of the boldest buccaneers?” 

She smiled doubtfully. “I am here because you 
brought me. I see no adventure in that.” 

“None! Nay, madam, did I not carry you off from 
the arms of Giant Despair, as friend Bunyan has it? 
By all the laws of chivalry you are my captive, and 
owe me obedience.” 

Again the brooding look crept into her eyes. “Do 
you indeed hold that you have vanquished Despair?” 
she asked bitterly. 

Anthony’s patience began to wane. “For Heaven’s 
sake, madam 1 cease to gaze so tragically upon the ruins 
of that egg on the floor, and try to view life as is meet 
on such an April morning.” 

She lifted her sad eyes to his. 

“I was wondering. Sir Anthony, what remains for a 
woman if all her eggs be broken and yet her omelette 
is not made.” 

“Why, then, madam, she must learn there are other 
things in life, less tasty, maybe, but sufficiently sus- 
taining. As, for example, this lump of bacon.” 

She looked at it and gave a little shudder of re- 
pulsion. 

“Can you not conceive that she may not choose to 
learn such a lesson?” 

Anthony was bending over the fire, stirring the 
omelette. He did not answer for a few minutes, and 
when he turned to her his face was flushed, but whether 


20 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


from heat or embarrassment she could not say. 

‘T take it, madam,’’ he said gently, ‘‘that if the 
Heavens will she should learn so hard a lesson, it is but 
a coward’s part to seek escape.” 

Louise Carew made no answer, but sat musing on his 
words while he finished his preparations for breakfast. 

He pulled the table nearer to the fire, cleared away 
the dirty pots, and deftly poured out the milk he had 
heated. Then he triumphantly invited her to partake 
of the food. 

“Come, madam, ’tis a wise rule in life never to face 
troubles with an empty stomach. I pray you eat.” 

She obeyed him without protest. He watched her 
anxiously, and noted with relief that as she ate her 
colour returned and her face grew less haggard. But 
she was very silent. 

“A word of praise, madam,” he pleaded reproach- 
fully. “Is this result of all my toil unworthy your 
commendation ? ’ ’ 

She roused herself with an effort. “In good truth, 
sir, it is delicious. I have never tasted such an omelette 
in all St. James’s.” 

“Good heavens! I trust not,” he cried with horror. 
“I learned this art in Paris.” 

Again they relapsed into silence. Anthony was ill 
at ease. For the first time in his life he was uncertain 
what he ought to do. His first objects were attained, 
he had brought her away from the horrible temptation 
of that dismal pool, she was warmed and fed, and twice 
she had smiled. But it seemed to him that his task 
w^ould not be fulfilled until he had eased her heart of 
its trouble, and helped her to face the world once more 
with courage. This he could in no wise do unless of 
her free will she would confide in him ; but he was very 
diffident about his powers of persuasion and held him- 
self by no means one likely to win a woman ’s confidence. 


A WOMAN AND REALITY 


21 


At last the silent meal was ended. Anthony rose and 
crossed to the window, racking his brains how to 
broach the subject of her misery. Par across the fields 
he spied Margery returning with an empty basket. He 
had marvelled at her disappearance, but it was evident 
she had carried dinner to her father. Doubtless the 
farmer would soon return to inspect his visitors, and 
they would have no valid excuse for remaining at the 
farm. 

He could no longer delay offering Mrs. Carew his 
service, and putting to the test whether or no he had 
earned her trust. 

He grimaced out into the sunlit courtyard, wishing 
himself anywhere else in the world, and faced with 
any other task. But there was no trace on his face of 
doubt or condemnation when he crossed again to her 
side. 

‘‘Mrs. Carew, youVe in trouble,” he said gently. 
^ ‘ Though Twere better for us both to forget the thought 
that was in your heart when I came to you out yonder, 
we cannot ignore it — yet, and ’tis useless to pretend 
there is no more betwixt us than there was yesterday. 
I alone know of your misery, therefore, if you would 
keep it secret Tis for me to help you. What aid a 
man's sword or a man’s wits can give is yours. I hold 
myself entirely at your service, and I swear by God 
that if you will honour me with your confidence, I will 
not fail you.” 

Before he finished speaking, she was weeping 
quietly, but through her tears her eyes lightened 
with fresh hope, and a little smile played round her 
mouth. She put her hand in his and pressed his 
fingers. 

“Ah! what can I say?” she murmured, 

“Why, madam, there’s nought needed to be said save 
‘yea’ or ‘nay.’ ” 


22 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


^‘And a lifetime of gratitude.” Then her face feU. 
‘^But alack! I do not see how you can help me.” 

‘'Why, that’s surely for me to devise,” he answered 
lightly. 

“But I cannot — ah! how could I take your money?” 

“Mo — money!” he stammered in amazement. 

“Yes. Is it not strange that so foolish a matter as 
money could bring a woman to such — shame?” 

“Egad! madam, the divines tell us truly that money 
is the root of all evil. But — will you not tell me what 
has befallen you?” 

Slowly, hesitatingly, she told her story. “When my 
husband died I found myself possessed of a pleasant 
fortune. He was an old man, he had not been — kind to 
me, and I could not grieve at his death. He had al- 
ways kept his money tight, and I had never known the 
pleasures of wealth. Possessing my freedom, and a for- 
tune at the same moment, I seemed, for the first time 
in my life, to taste happiness. But I knew nothing of 
money. I was extravagant, careless — mad, I verily be- 
lieve, for I was warned, but I took no heed. At last I 
found my fortune was well-nigh squandered and debts 
pressed. Then I went to the money-lenders.” 

Anthony groaned sympathetically and shook his 
head. 

“I knew nought of interest, I thought only of obtain- 
ing money for my needs. But the debts grew and 
grew — you can have no conception how quickly.” 

“Egad! madam, I have,” he answered drily. 

“The end came last week. I have no money, no 
means of raising money. My debts have grown to 
three thousand guineas, and they told me that if it be 
not paid to-morrow I shall be imprisoned. I could not 
face the horror of it, and so last night I paid off my 
servants wdth such jewels as I had, and — I ran away.” 

Her voice broke on a sob. Anthony laid a steadying 


A WOMAN AND REALITY 23 

hand upon her shoulder, and presently she continued 
more quietly. 

‘T purposed at first to steal away and find refuge in 
some country place where none would know me, and 
where perchance I could earn my living by giving les- 
sons in music or French. I took coach to Kensington 
and then walked the night through. But when the sun 
rose I grew fearful lest I be followed, so I hid in the 
beech thicket. And as I sat there alone, I knew on 
a sudden that life was too hard for me, and that I had 
no more courage to face it.^’ 

‘‘You were overdone with weariness, madam.’’ 

She shook her head. “No, Sir Anthony, we will be 
honest. I was a coward.” 

“I’ve known too many men, madam, who found life 
too hard to face, to be judge of a woman. But — ^had 
you no friends?” 

“None from whom I could take help. It is strange; 
daily men vowed they would die for me, yet had I 
asked them instead to give me three thousand guineas, 
there would have been — conditions.” 

He frowned. “I do not think that, madam. You 
judge too harshly of men.” 

She looked at him doubtfully. “It may be so. I 
have been unfortunate in those I have known. And I 
dared not so far put myself in any man’s power.” 

He nodded gravely. “I understand, madam.” 

“Perchance, there be some who would have married 
me,” she continued thoughtfully, “but to marry a 

second time without love ” she gave a little shiver 

of horror — “indeed, it were easier to die.” 

Anthony turned away, and paced once or twice up 
and down the room in silence, thinking deeply. He 
never questioned his duty or his will to help her, only 
his power. His lands were mortgaged, all his posses- 
sions of value had been lost in the burning of his house, 


24f 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


his credit was stretched to the uttermost. By no man- 
ner of means could he raise one thousand, let alone 
three thousand guineas, and though he might conceiv- 
ably find a friend to go surety for him for three months, 
yet if at the end of that time he failed to find payment, 
he stood ruined, not only in his purse but in his 
honour. 

And yet he scarcely hesitated. To his simple faith it 
was clear that by the direct intervention of Heaven 
he had been led to save this woman ’s life ; surely, then, 
he might put trust in Heaven to find him the means 
to serve her. 

He came to pause beside her, smiling down into her 
anxious face. 

Madam, for my part, if you will pardon the dis- 
courtesy, you may set your mind at rest; I have no 
desire at all to marry you.” 

She gave a little unexpected ripple of laughter. 
am aware of that, sir. All London knows that Sir 
Anthony Claverton is sworn bachelor.” 

‘‘And for the rest ” he hesitated a moment. 

“Madam, ’tis, maybe, not easy for a man to under- 
stand the fear life holds for women; I am glad you 
have honoured me with your confidence. If you will 
accept my service I swear to you, by my honour, none 
shall know of it, and I will never ask aught in return 
save the right to serve you.” 

She gazed earnestly into his face as though she would 
read his innermost thoughts. “Surely, surely I can 
trust you?” she murmured. 

“Do you not think Heaven sent me to be your serv- 
ant?” he urged simply. 

Then she arose and with a strange frank gesture 
threw back her hood and held out her hand. They 
clasped hands frankly, as men might seal a bargain. 

“I give you all my trust, Sir Anthony,” she said 


A WOMAN AND REALITY 25 

gravely. ‘‘For my thanks I know you will not hear 
them. I will register them in heaven.’’ 

Anthony’s face expressed intense relief. He had 
dreaded protestations. He pulled up a chair and sat 
down beside her with a business-like air. 

“Now, madam, for the amount of your debts and 
the names of your creditors.” 

“ ’Tis now all in one hand. I owe three thousand 
guineas to Ebenezer Israels of ” 

“I know the rascal,” muttered Anthony ruefully. 
“I will settle him for you to-morrow. But — ^how do 
you purpose to live now, madam?” 

“I have an aunt in Sussex. I dared not go to her 
before, for had she known me in debt, she would have 
shut her doors upon me and set the duns on my track. 
But now I am free, I doubt not she will give me shelter, 
if only for the pleasure of hour-long pointing out my 
follies to me.” 

“But, madam, such a life will be purgatory for you.” 

“And does not a woman who these five years past 
has lived for herself merit a little purgatory? Indeed, 
sir, an I meet not some punishment, how shall I ever 
again win back my pride ? ’ ’ 

Anthony shook his head. “You’ll give me your 
promise, madam, not to brood on the past?” 

She smiled at the note of command in his voice, but 
assented meekly. “I will dream of a happy future 
while I comb her lap-dog’s hair and learn the duties 
of a dame de compagnie. Ah ! here is our child hostess. 
I trust you have not cheated her of the kiss you prom- 
ised.” 

“Nay,” answered the child solemnly, “ ’a bussed me 
thrice.” 

Louise laughed merrily. “Faith, sir, now indeed I 
perceive you are a man of your word. But you were 
wise to take your departure ere you steal a maiden 


26 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


heart. Do you ride back to London and presently send 
me a coach. I will sleep the night at Kensington, and 
to-morrow journey to Purgatory.’’ 

^^My feyther’s cornin’,” interposed Margery stolidly. 

‘T will allay the honest fellow’s wrath and commit 
you to his care,” said Anthony, rising. ‘‘The coach 
shall be here by four o’ the clock and I will ride back 
to escort you.” 

But Louise Carew shook her head. “There are eyes 
and ears everywhere, and it means much to me that 
this day’s business be kept private. We will part 
here.” 

Still Anthony hesitated, eyeing her doubtfully. A 
little flush mounted to her brow. 

“Sir Anthony,” she said, with quiet dignity, “I have 
given you my trust, but to make the bargain complete 
you must give me yours. Fare you well.” 

Again he took her outstretched hand in a clasp of 
friendship, their eyes met in a long look, and they 
parted. 


CHAPTER III 


fortune's verdict 


‘Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel.” 


NTHONY CLAVERTON spent a busy afternoon 



in company with certain bargaining gentlemen 
from the neighbourhood of St. Giles’, converting all his 
available possessions into cash. His mare he must 
keep, some suits of clothes, his sword and a pistol or 
two, but that was all; every other possession he sacri- 
ficed. Six o’clock found him tired, thirsty and trium- 
phant, with seven hundred guineas in his pocket and as 
lightly burdened with possessions as any soldier of 
fortune. 

For he had resolved that since the Pates chose to 
place him in the predicament in which he found him- 
self, why, the Fates should rescue him. He would com- 
mit all his wealth to Fortune, and stand to win or lose 
all at the hazard of the dice. 

He dined alone, broaching a last bottle of wine which 
he had kept for the occasion, and strolled out to White’s 
about nine o’clock. He was conscious of a feeling of 
solemn excitement, a certainty that he stood on the 
brink of a supreme achievement, that Fortune herself 
stood watching his ventures, her hand upon her wheel. 

The tables were very full when he entered the rooms 
of the Gamecock Club at White’s, and for the moment 
he feared he might have difficulty in finding an oppo- 
nent. But even as he stood divesting himself of his 
cloak a man rose quickly from the table near the door 
and threw down his cards. 


27 


28 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


‘‘The devil’s with you to-night, Soames,” he cried. 
“I’ll play no more!” 

With a curt nod to his opponent he brushed past 
Anthony and hurriedly left the Club. 

Mr. Soames shrugged his shoulders slightly as protest 
against such unmannerly proceedings, then looked up 
with a smile of welcome as Anthony slipped into the 
vacant chair opposite. 

“What! you, Tony? ’Twas rumoured you had left 
Town. Shall we play?” 

“With all my heart,” answered Anthony quickly. 
“If you’ve a mind for the dice, a hundred guineas a 
throw.” 

Mr. Soames’ eyes brightened. He was an insatiable 
gambler. Anthony counted himself lucky to have found 
an opponent whom neither successes nor reverses would 
turn from the board. 

So they played. From the first Anthony’s hopes were 
realised. He won repeatedly. At the end of two hours 
two thousand guineas stood to his credit; he was half- 
way to his goal. 

The tables were emptier now, but the room seemed 
more crowded. Men had learned what stakes were 
called by the players near the door. Little groups 
gathered round to watch, sharing the excitement, mark- 
ing critically the demeanour of the players, or craning 
forward eagerly to note the fall of the dice. 

Harry Ford, who revelled always in jests of an an- 
cient odour, drew the queen of hearts from the pack be- 
side him and propped her up against the dice-box be- 
fore Anthony “to guard his luck.” Anthony glanced 
at the card, smiled at the recollection of the perturba- 
tion its repeated appearance had caused him, and fiicked 
it across the room as he took up the box. 

Then Fortune deserted him. 

Little by little the money he had won passed over to 


FORTUNE’S VERDICT 


29 


Soames. Occasionally a lucky fall of the dice heartened 
him to hope the tide was turning, but in vain. His luck 
was completely out. He played on mechanically. His 
throat was dry and his heart beat so violently with 
excitement that the blood sang in his ears. He was 
much concerned to keep his face calm and his hands 
steady while he rattled the dice. 

Midnight found him once more beggared of all save 
the seven hundred guineas which composed his fortune. 

‘ ‘ Shall we double the stakes for a few throws ? ’ ’ he 
asked laconically. It was his last desperate chance to 
change his luck. 

Soames agreed readily. A stir went round the circle, 
men pressed upon one another to watch the result. 

Three throws went against Anthony. After a sec- 
ond's hesitation he drew out his last remaining hun- 
dred. 

‘‘One more throw at the old stakes, eh? It grows 
late.’’ 

With a steady hand he picked up the box. The dice 
rattled on to the table. A couple of deuces faced up- 
ward. 

“I take it you’ll beat that, Soames,” he said, with a 
low laugh. 

He watched a four and a six fall on to the table, and 
laughed again strangely. Then he rose to his feet. 

“I’m for my bed. I owe you thanks for a rare bout 
with Fortune. Good night.” 

He looked round once more at the interested ring of 
faces, then he strode out of the Club — a beggared man ! 


CHAPTER IV 


RIVALS FOR A WOMAN — GOLD 

‘What is your Fortune, my pretty maid?” 

D uring the past two days Anthony’s horizon had 
grown strangely narrow. It seemed to him now 
that he had but one object before him — -the payment of 
Louise Carew’s debt — and to attain that object he was 
prepared to sacrifice all that he held dearest in life, 
even his dreams. He knew now full surely, since For- 
tune had deserted him, that his only hope of fulfilling 
the task he had undertaken lay in propitiating his aunt. 
Lady Cardew, by journeying down to Gloucestershire 
to woo an unknown bride. Yet it was not without 
much reluctance that he came to this resolve. Such a 
marriage was opposed alike to his own desires and to 
his sense of chivalry, and that seemed to him the cruel- 
lest stroke of fortune which compelled him to save one 
woman’s honour only by jeopardising another woman’s 
happiness. 

But he held himself bound to the service of Louise 
Carew and did not shrink from the sacrifice, and he 
vowed to himself that, so far as lay in his power, his 
wife at least should never have cause to regret her 
marriage. 

Early the following morning he set out afoot for the 
house of his cousin. Sir Charles Acton, to secure his 
name to the bond with Israels. His request met with 
ready agreement. 

‘‘Do you but wait the while I change my coat. I’ll be 
with you anon. Go up and talk with Betty; she is 
30 


RIVALS FOR A WOMAN’S— GOLD 31 

clamorous for a word with you anent your marriage.” 

Anthony looked nervous. His cousin, Lady Betty, 
was at once the most kindly-intentioned and the most 
mischievously-interfering of all the beauties of St. 
James’s. She held herself a specially constituted 
adviser to all her acquaintances, and when any proved 
deaf to the wisdom of her advice, she was frequently 
known to adopt the role of Fate and enforce its accept- 
ance. Anthony regarded her person with affection, her 
beauty with admiration, and her interest in his affairs 
with whole-hearted dread. 

When he reluctantly mounted to her withdrawing- 
room he found her, in a whirlwind of sudden inspira- 
tion, altering the position of all the knick-knacks with 
which the room was crowded. But his appearance 
effectually diverted the current of her thoughts, and 
greeting him gladly, she ensconced herself in a com- 
manding position on the sofa. 

‘‘Anthony,” she began solemnly, “you are no better 
than a fool.” 

“Why, Betty, what’s to do?” asked Anthony, with a 
bewildered air. 

“Here’s old Lady Sophy, with a sackful of gold that 
should all be yours, vowing she’ll cut you out of her 
will unless you wed Sylvie Defraine, and you will have 
none of her.” 

Anthony eyed her smilingly. He had a mind to 
gratify the imperious little lady by hiding his present 
resolve about the marriage and gracefully appearing to 
yield to her advice. 

“Come, Betty,” he argued gravely, “would you 
consent to marriage with one you had never seen?” 

“Maybe not, but at least I would not prove fool 
enough to refuse before I had seen her. Why, Tony, 
Sylvie is a beauty, and of an age to know the fact. 
Like enough she will refuse to look at you.” 


S2 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


Betty was indeed full of guile; she knew the effect 
such a challenge as this would have upon a man of 
spirit. 

And indeed it must be confessed that, modest though 
he was, such a possibility had never crossed Anthony’s 
mind. He had unconsciously regarded this unknown 
girl as one in league with the Fates, only waiting op- 
portunity to capture him. His face brightened with 
sudden hope. 

‘‘To be sure she may!” he cried joyfully. “Then I 
shall have satisfied my revered aunt, and still go un- 
fettered.” 

Betty was highly indignant at such a reception of 
her suggestion. So obstinate a bachelor deserved to be 
dragged to marriage by a halter. 

“Nothing of the sort,” she answered tartly. “Lady 
Sophia will be satisfied with nothing but your mar- 
riage, and the child will not be permitted to refuse your 
suit. ’ ’ 

Anthony’s face fell wofully. “An unwilling bride 
and an unready groom — ’tis like to be a merry mar- 
riage. ’ ’ 

“Lud! Tony, don’t be so doleful. You know you can 
woo as well as any man when a beauty is at stake.” 

“But if she be indeed a beauty and an heiress, why, 
pray, should her uncle and my aunt be so earnest for 
her marriage with a beggar like myself?” 

Betty hesitated. “Why, look you, Tony, you’ve a — 
a vastly presentable appearance, and a wooing tongue 
in your head when you please to use it. Now it seems 
this child has lost her heart to some hedge-side adven- 
turer, some ‘Willie Woo-by-Night,’ and though forbid 
to see him, she defies her guardians. ’Tis thought your 
wooing would prove a rare antidote.” 

Anthony grimaced. “I’ve small stomach for such a 
task. ’Twere surely wiser to bring her to Town 


RIVALS FOR A WOMAN’S— GOLD %3 

and let a taste o’ pleasure heal her broken heart.” 

“Ay. But — they’d as lief not have her in Town till 
she he safely wed. ’Tis not so easy to keep her close 
here as in the country. Furthermore, she’s patched o’ 
the wrong side and a rare intrigante. Her father went 
with Jamie and died at St. Germains, and the child’s 
heart is across the water. London is no place for a girl 
with much spirit and small judgment, unless she have a 
man to protect her; there are too many intriguers 
abroad ready to trade on her innocence.” 

“But Heaven help me, Betty!” cried Anthony des- 
perately. “What a wife for a man of peace! A love- 
lorn, disobedient, political hussy! I came here resolute 
to obey my aunt and agree to the marriage, but be- 
shrew me if I dare face it now! What, i’ Heaven’s 
name, should I do with such an untamed termagant?” 

“Pooh! if she loved you, you could do with her what 
you chose.” 

“Love me! She’s scarce like to do that.” 

Betty looked him up and down critically. “I would 
not wager against it,” she answered thoughtfully. 
“Nature has mercifully provided many women who are 
patently fools.” 

Anthony laughed, despite his concern at the picture 
Betty had drawn of his future bride. Then he rose 
and crossed to his cousin’s side. 

“Betty,” he said earnestly, “give me your help. I 
haven’t a doubt you’d wish to marry us all, willy-nilly, 
but in this case — faith! it’s hard to see the right. I 
hold marriage a matter which dearly concerns a man’s 
honour. Would you, then, indeed urge me to wed 
Sylvia Defraine?” 

The mischief died out of Betty’s eyes and her mouth 
curved into lines of unwonted gravity. She paused a 
few minutes before she made reply. 

“Tony, you’re a good man, and I wish you happy. 




THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


But ’tis only to a woman that marriage is all, and in 
this matter I think of the girl. She’s very young, 
Tony; she is rich and beautiful, and her life is threat- 
ened ruin at the hands of a pestilent adventurer. It’s 
my sure belief you can save her if you’ve a mind to do 
it. Go, then, down to Gloucestershire, and win her for 
your wife. ’ ’ 

With a delicate homage Anthony raised her hand to 
his lips. 

‘‘You are right, Betty. We men are selfish rascals, 
and ’tis the girl deserves consideration. But — can I 
hope to make her happy if I’ve no love for her in my 
heart?” 

Betty laughed softly. “Love is like a mushroom, 
’twill oft grow in a single night. Make her your wife, 
Tony. I warrant you’ll hold her none the less dear 
because she proves hard to win.” 

Three hours later Anthony rode out of London on his 
journey to Gloucestershire. He rode with a light heart 
and a good conscience. He had settled the matter of 
Louise Carew’s debt, Charles Acton having stood his 
surety for payment at three months’ date. He had 
received Lady Sophia’s blessing and one hundred 
pounds as earnest of his reward should he prosper in 
his wooing. He set forth confident of success. 

As he journeyed westward, he pondered much upon 
the woman he was riding to wed. Nothing Lady Betty 
had said of her greatly attracted him ; he counted 
youth insipid and women politicians the very devil. 
Nevertheless, he held to his resolve. To save his honour 
he must wed her; to save her happiness he must win 
her from the toils of her rascally lover. The bargain 
seemed to him fair enough, and if when evening fell 
and the moon sailed up the tender daffodil of the east- 
ern sky he dreamed a little of the woman he had once 
hoped to wive — a woman gentle, courageous, loyal, 


RIVALS FOR A WOMAN’S— GOLD 


35 


whose eyes were the shrine of Love — why, if he dreamed 
a little, and sighed over his dreams, who shall blame 
him? Dull indeed is the soul of that man in whom 
moonlight touches no chord of romance. 

It was eight o’clock on the second evening when he 
reached Stroud. His first intention was to stay the 
night in the little town, but the inn was so atrocious 
that, after an execrable dinner, he determined to seek 
other quarters, and wooed by the beauty of the night 
decided to ride the remaining eight miles to his destina- 
tion. Armed with Lady Sophia’s letter to Sir John 
Defraine he was sure of a hospitable welcome. 

The path was steep, winding up the hillside betwixt 
dense pine-woods whence, through an occasional clear- 
ing, he had a wide view of rolling hills and shadowy 
valleys, silent in the still moonlight. A more perfect 
night for a ride could not be wished. But ere he had 
gone three miles Anthony found reason to regret his 
resolve. 

The road grew worse and worse, intersected by deep 
cart ruts and roots of trees. It was so steep in parts 
that the horses slipped and scrambled over the ridges, 
and the trees at times were so dense that only the 
faintest ray of light penetrated the dark feathery 
branches to illumine their path. 

His servant, who from the beginning had highly dis- 
approved of this evening ride, stumbled along behind 
him, leading the pack-horse and muttering fierce im- 
precations on human folly. In short, Anthony re- 
luctantly confessed to himself that even a dirty inn 
and execrable food were to be preferred to the prospect 
before them of a night spent in the woods. 

Their progress was intolerably slow. Time after time 
they were forced to stop and drag the pack-horse out of 
the mire, or tighten the straps of their mails. They 
were obliged to dismount and lead their horses over the 


36 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


rough ground. In short, when at length they emerged 
in open country at the top of the ridge of hills and 
stumbled into the tiny hamlet of Birdlip, Anthony 
readily agreed with his servant’s proposal to rouse the 
folk at the little inn and insist upon shelter. Although 
but half a mile from his final destination, the hour was 
so late, and he himself so muddied and dishevelled, 
that he willingly abandoned all idea of journeying 
further. 

The innkeper slept soundly, and when at length he 
was roused from his slumbers, he could oifer them but 
poor entertainment. The only guest-room was occupied, 
and while his man found quarters with the grooms, 
Anthony was forced to put up with a hastily contrived 
bed on the broad settle in the inner kitchen. But he 
was sufficiently weary to appreciate any resting-place, 
and after partaking of a bowl of hot soup, speedily fell 
asleep. 

He was ever a light sleeper; the little click of the 
raised door-latch instantly roused him to consciousness, 
but he was too drowsy and comfortable to move. He 
lay still and stared sleepily at the opening door, through 
which a man carrying a small lantern presently en- 
tered. 

The fire had died down, and Anthony lay in the 
shadow of the settle; the intruder did not notice his 
presence. He was a man of unusual height, and moved 
with that quickness and lightness of motion which 
usually denotes a good fencer. He crossed the room 
rapidly to the window, pulled aside the curtain and 
flung wide the lattice. 

Immediately outside the window was a man on horse- 
back silhouetted against the faint pearl light of the 
dawning sky, a heavily-built man in wide-brimmed hat 
and riding mask, who sat his horse with the weary mien 
of one who has ridden far. He turned his head at 


RIVALS FOR A WOMAN’S— GOLD 37 

sound of the opening window and nodded to the man 
in the room. 

‘'Good! You heard me? IVe small time to waste. 
IVe done some good work on the Gloucester road to- 
night, and must be ten miles west o’ Stroud by sun- 
rise. ’ ’ 

“What do you want here?” asked the other 
surlily. 

The horseman gave a soft chuckle. “Egad! you 
honest gentlemen part hardly with your beds. I want 
a sup of wine, Wilton, and your report.” 

The other was evidently prepared for the request, 
and handed up a flask of wine, from which the horse- 
man took a long drink. He gave it back with a sigh 
of satisfaction. 

“Stap me! that puts heart into a man. Now your 
report. How goes the work?” 

Wilton threw out his hands with a little gesture of 
triumph. 

“Excellent well. The girl is mine.” 

“But not her guardian, eh?” 

“That is not necessary. Her fortune is her own.” 

“Then when do you propose to carry her off?” 

There was a moment’s silence before the man at the 
window made answer. “She is mine,” he repeated 
defiantly, “but as to running away with me ” 

“She won’t hear of it, eh? Bah! you have not half 
done your work. The captain bids you clinch the mat- 
ter. You have had time enough to woo a dozen.” 

The other moved impatiently. “The captain talks as 
though ’twere as easy to run off with an heiress as to 
rob a coach.” 

“Egad! he has tried both — he should know. But 
look you, Wilton, you’ve no time to waste. ’Tis 
rumoured they mean to wed the girl to Sir Anthony 
Claverton, who is even now on his way west for the 


38 THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 

marriage. Look to it you are not cheated of the 
wench. ’ ’ 

^^The devil take Claverton!” answered the other 
sulkily. ‘HVe heard of his coming. But I’m sure 
enough of the girl.” 

‘^Clinch the matter, then,” said the horseman curtly. 
^ ‘ Send us word if you have need of us, and look that the 
affair be concluded before the month is out. Good day 
to you.” He nodded brusquely, and rode away to- 
wards the shadow of the woods. 

Wilton pulled the lattice to with an angry snap and 
turned from the window. 

Anthony had listened to the first part of the short 
conversation in a sort of sleepy stupor, but the mention 
of his own name roused him to sudden wakefulness. 
He opened his eyes in wide amazement and listened 
with all his ears. 

Now, when the intruder turned to cross the room, he 
threw aside his cloak and rose slowly to his feet. 

“Your pardon, sir,” he drawled, “ ’tis clear the devil 
has overlooked your prayer. I am Sir Anthony Claver- 
ton.” 

Wilton started back with an imprecation, and stood a 
minute silent, striving to recollect exactly what had 
passed betwixt himself and the man who had gone. 
Then he placed the lantern on the table and crossed to 
Anthony’s side. 

“You have been long expected. Sir Anthony,” he 
said quietly, “and you come too late. The prize you 
seek is mine.” 

Anthony eyed him critically. He was a handsome 
fellow, like enough to take a woman’s fancy, and there 
was resolution in his steady eyes and straight-lipped 
mouth. Clearly here was no contemptible rival, but a 
man to be reckoned with. 

“Since you appear to have a very clear knowledge 


39 


RIVALS 'FOR A WOMAN’S— GOLD 

of my affairs,” Anthony answered coldly, ‘‘I may warn 
you that I have no intention of permitting you to in- 
terfere with them. I shall be — er — gratified if you will 
leave the neighbourhood.” 

Wilton laughed softly. trust to do so presently, 
sir, in company with Miss Defraine, who has promised 
to be my wife.” 

Anthony raised his eyebrows. should have pre- 
ferred to keep the lady's name out of our discussion, 
but since you will not have it so, permit me to tell you 
that Miss Sylvia Defraine is no wife for a companion of 
nightriders. ” 

‘‘That is a matter for her own judgment. But I 
warn you, sir, if you persist in pressing your suit on 
the lady, I may find it necessary to have you removed.” 

Anthony 's spirits rose ; it seemed his wooing was like 
to prove exciting. “What! you would have me kid- 
napped, eh? Or does your acquaintance likewise num- 
ber hired assassins?” 

Wilton smiled and shook his head. “My methods 
are less cumbrous. I do not think we should have any 
difficulty in finding occasion for a quarrel. In case of 
a meeting the victory would not lie with you.” 

Anthony started at the quiet assurance of his tone. 
He eyed him curiously ; certainly the extraordinary 
height of the man, his well-knit body, light movements 
and supple wrists argued him no mean opponent with 
the sword. Such confidence was undoubtedly annoy- 
ing, but Anthony had his temper well in hand and gave 
no sign of vexation. 

“Egad! sir, I see no reason to doubt your word that 
you are a better swordsman than I, and I trust ere our 
acquaintance ends to give you opportunity of proving 
it. But for the present I do not fight with you. I 
have other work in hand.” 

“Ay, the forcing of a girl to wedlock against her 


40 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


will,” answered Wilton, with unexpected bitterness. 

Anthony’s mouth set in a hard line. ‘‘Shall we not 
rather say the saving a girl from ruin at the hands of 
an adventurer?” he answered suavely. 

Wilton crossed slowly to the table and took up his 
lantern. 

“Sir Anthony,” he said coldly, “it pleases you to 
dub me ‘adventurer’ because, forsooth! the lady I 
would wed is possessed of a fortune. Had you already 
made her acquaintance, you would understand that she 
is herself of far more worth than all the wealth of the 
Indies. If I who seek to win her, knowing what she is, 
am to be dubbed adventurer, what name shall we give 
to one who reeks nought of her worth but comes un- 
questioningly to woo — ^her money-bags?” 

He turned abruptly on his heel and strode out of the 
room, leaving Anthony glaring after him in speechless 
indignation. 

It was not to be doubted the fellow made out an 
amazing good case for himself. Anthony crossed to 
the window and stared gloomily out into the pale light 
of dawn. He had ridden from London with the vir- 
tuous intention of sending this hedge-side lover to the 
right-about, and speedily convincing his bride-elect of 
the worthlessness of the man to whom she had given her 
heart. But now he found himself faced with uncom- 
fortable doubts whether the man be indeed the uncon- 
scionable rascal he had imagined. The fellow was 
clearly no coward; he sounded sincere in his devotion. 
In sooth, Anthony knew nothing against him save that 
he kept questionable company and, to judge from his 
conversation with the night-rider, he had an eye to the 
lady’s fortune. But that latter accusation, as Wilton 
had pointed out, was one it hardly befitted Anthony 
Claverton to bring against him. 

“Beshrew the rascal!” he muttered savagely. 


RIVALS FOR A WOMAN’S— GOLD 


41 


‘‘What the plague right has he to take cognisance of 
my affairs? I'm half of a mind to ride back to Town 
and give the girl the go-by." 

But such a course savoured too much of running away 
long to find favour in his eyes. The threat of danger 
had roused his spirit, the hint of rivalry sweetened his 
quest. He threw back his head and laughed aloud. 

“Egad! 'twould seem we are both rascals with little 
to choose betwixt us. 'Twill be a fair fight. He boasts 
her affections, I have her guardian 's goodwill. So hey 1 
then, for the wooing, and let the best man win." 


CHAPTER V 


“the one woman in the world” 

‘‘She looked so lovely. . . . 

A man had given all other bliss, 

And all his worldly worth for this, 

To waste his whole heart in one kiss 
Upon her perfect lips.” 

A n hour later, having shaved, dressed and drunk his 
coffee, Anthony strolled out to take stock of his 
surroundings. It was but seven o’clock, too early to 
present himself at Buckholt Court, which stood in a 
wide expanse of wooded park on the edge of the ridge 
of hills half a mile from the village. He had seldom 
been so early afield; the fresh morning air sweetened 
his thoughts, and he gazed with eyes of delight across 
the shining dew-kissed meadows down into the wide 
plain of Gloucester, still filled with curling mists, where 
the tall spire of the Cathedral shone silver in the level 
rays of the sun. Like all true lovers of town, his spirit 
was genuinely stirred by the beauties of the country, 
and the unaccustomed charm of the early April morn- 
ing wove sweet dreams and pleasant fantasies about his 
path. The w^oods, which had worn so grim and 
threatening an aspect on the previous evening, were 
now transformed into enchanted groves of fairy-like 
beauty, each leaf a wonder of gold or palest emerald 
beneath the magic sunshine. They wooed Anthony by 
tantalising glimpses of far green depths; he turned off 
the road into a little wandering path that dived down 
into a misty beech-wood. 


42 


''THE ONE WOMAN IN THE WORLD” 43 


The air was riotous with the song of birds, the sun 
gleamed through the pale young leaves like a quivering 
emerald flame. The path turned a corner abruptly, 
and Anthony stood stock still drawing his breath 
with a long sigh of sheer delight in the beauty of the 
scene that met his eyes. 

The ground was covered with soft green moss and 
starred with primroses. The trees had been cleared a 
little, so that the sunshine was no longer subdued, but 
bathed the dell in golden light; the pensive murmur 
of a little brook mingled with the birds’ chorus, while 
in the centre of the glade, as though all this light and 
beauty were consecrated to her presence, stood a girl — 
waiting. 

She was incomparably the most beautiful woman 
Anthony had ever beheld. Very young, her skin still 
soft and velvety as a child’s, her cheeks still tinged 
with the elusive rosebud hue of girlhood, she was tall 
and slender, her loose morning gown of palest green 
showing to perfection the curving grace of her figure. 
Her hair was a red-gold aureole challenging the sunlight, 
and her wide grey eyes beneath her sloping brows 
seemed to hold in their depths all the passion of 
Psyche, all the mystery and the knowledge of Venus, 
Queen of Love. 

She stood with her rounded arms spread wide, as 
though she would draw all the beauty of the world into 
her embrace ; her head was tilted back, and an enchant- 
ing smile of expectation curved a mouth so perfect that 
every man who looked on it fell straightway a-dream- 
ing of love. 

For the very briefest span of time Anthony feasted 
his eyes on this adorable vision. Then the girl’s arms 
fell limply to her side, her eyes widened in astonish- 
ment, and a burning blush slowly crimsoned her face 
from neck to brow. She stooped quickly and picked up 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


U 

her hat, which lay on the ground beside her, and stood 
poised for flight held only by pride from a precipitous 
departure. 

In two strides Anthony crossed the glade, and bowed 
low before her. 

‘‘Miss Sylvia Defraine, an I mistake not, I am 
Anthony Claverton, and always your servant.” 

The girl slowly lifted her lashes and looked at him 
thoughtfully. Then she extended her hand with a shy 
smile of greeting. 

“You are very welcome, sir,” she said, in low sweet 
tones. “My uncle looks for your coming.” 

Her friendly greeting surprised him. He had feared 
but cold welcome from one who must needs look upon 
him as the disturber of her peace. He resolved to make 
the most of the present truce. 

“I fear I intrude upon your sanctuary, madam. 
Believe me, I had not done so had I known the Goddess 
of Love was at her orisons.” 

She gave a low laugh of frank amusement, and seated 
herself upon the bank among the primroses. 

“In truth, sir, your tongue smacks too much o’ the 
town, and you must pardon my country simplicity if 
I know not how to reply. I pray you tell me, how 
would a beauty of St. James’s receive such com- 
pliments ? ’ ’ 

“I do not know, madam,” answered Anthony 
promptly. “I have never before met a lady whom I 
could liken to Aphrodite.” 

There was a roguish smile lurking in her eyes, but 
her face was gravely demure. 

“Tell me,” she said slowly, “am I then beautiful?” 

Anthony laughed at the frank question. ‘ ‘ Surely 
you must know it, madam.” 

She shook her head. “How can that be? For 
though I can see the reflection of my face — and it 


‘^THE ONE WOMAN IN THE WORLD” 45 


pleases me mightily — ^yet here be no other ladies of 
quality with whom I may compare it.’’ 

‘‘Are there, then, no men’s eyes, madam, wherein 
you may read the answer to your riddle?” he asked 
softly. 

A little blush mounted to her cheeks, and she made 
no immediate answer. Anthony sat beside her on the 
bank and idly gathered a handful of primroses. 

“ ’Tis true I am from St. James’s,” he continued 
calmly, “yet I have small knowledge of the polite art 
of compliment. Were I a poet, or — or Harry Ford — 
it’s not to be doubted I could find convincing words 
with which to sing your praises ; being what I am, I can 
but say that I hold you the most beautiful woman I 
have ever seen.” 

She flashed him a quick questioning glance, then her 
face brightened with a rare smile. 

“I am glad,” she said softly. “I am very glad.” 

But Anthony was uncomfortably conscious that her 
thoughts were not with him, and it was not for his sake 
she rejoiced in her beauty. For the first time in his 
life he experienced a pang of jealousy. 

“I trust, madam,” he said bluntly, “the present mat- 
ter of my visit to Birdlip does not — er — greatly mislike 
you ? ’ ’ 

He thought he detected a faint look of consciousness 
in her face, but it pleased her to affect innocence. 

“Why, sir, is your company generally objectionable 
to women?” she asked composedly. 

“Egad! I don’t conceive any woman has ever noted 
it,” he answered, laughing. 

Again the roguish smile brightened her eyes. 
“Alack! London must be vastly crowded,” she mur- 
mured demurely. 

“Not so, madam,” he answered with equal gravity. 
“But the poor benighted ladies of St. James’s hold a 


46 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


witty tongue and a languishing eye preferable to that 
inestimable virtue — silence. ’ ’ 

‘‘A virtue, sir, which I have yet to learn you possess.” 

Anthony threw back his head and laughed light- 
heartedly. 

‘^There’s magic in an April morning, madam. If I 
have talked too freely ’tis because my brain is bemused 
with happiness and my heart is singing like yonder 
bird — a paean of thanksgiving.” 

Then indeed she turned and eyed him with sudden 
gravity. 

‘^You are happy?” she asked slowly. ‘‘Where- 
fore ? ’ ’ 

He rose slowly to his feet and stood looking down at 
her with shining eyes. His voice shook. 

“Because, madam, I have found that for which I 
have been seeking all my life, and which I had but now 
despaired of finding.” 

“Of what do you speak, sir?” she asked wonder- 
ingly. 

He pressed his lips to the flowers he had gathered 
and laid them on her lap, and as he stooped towards 
her he looked deep into her eyes and whispered softly: 

“The One Woman in the World.” 

For a full minute she sat silent with parted lips, 
gazing up into his eloquent face. Then a little shiver 
ran through her and she sprang to her feet. 

“I fear, sir, you have found a very ignorant, foolish 
girl,” she said lightly. “But you go too quick for my 
country wits. Sir Anthony. I pray you, a’ Heaven’s 
name, give me a little breathing time. We shall meet 
at dinner.” 

She dropped him a quick curtsey, and running lightly 
down the glade, vanished in the shadow of the trees. 

Anthony threw himself down upon the bank she had 
quitted, and lived again the fleeting hour. Her every 


“THE ONE WOMAN IN THE WORLD’^ 47 


look and word were engraved upon his memory, he 
laughed again softly as he recalled the demure tones of 
her voice and the impish mirth in her eyes. 

Ah! was ever woman so adorable, so utterly desir- 
able? And this was the woman whom necessity hid 
him wed. He was indeed blessed by fortune, favoured 
among men! 

Had he been indeed as she said, ‘'too quick’’? Had 
his frank admission of love on such short acquaintance 
smacked too much of insincerity? He feared it might 
he so. He had been carried away, swept off his feet, by 
the charm of her beauty. He could not yet understand 
what magic had moved him so suddenly to pour out 
his soul. 

But he did not regret it; why should he conceal his 
love ? He was hers in all entirety, and would give proof 
of sincerity in a life-long devotion. 

Ay, all his life he had sought her, the one woman 
who could stir his heart, could thrill him to happiness, 
who could proffer him the elixir of eternal youth. And 
here at last he had found her, on an April morning, 
when all the world was singing of love. 


CHAPTER YI 


THE WOOING O^T 

‘Hs she kind as she is fair? 

For Beauty dwells with kindness.” 

N OW ensued a fortnight of sunny April weather, 
when the country-side lay bathed in beauty, and 
the birds rioted in their mating songs. But had it been 
the foulest weather that ever dishonoured an English 
Spring, Anthony Claverton would have recked little 
of its horror, for he was as deep in love as a man could 
well be, and when all the world is centred in the person 
of one woman her smile makes sunshine, and her frown 
makes night. He scarcely knew how the hours passed, 
save that they fled too quickly on the wings of hap- 
piness, for ever he was with Sylvia Defraine, riding 
with her through the misty woods, walking with her 
through fields ablow with daffodils, sitting with her in 
the Italian garden with its beds of glowing tulips, look- 
ing down from their heights upon the little world of 
men in far Gloucester city. And ever his love for her 
grew till it mastered all his being, and he had no more 
to ask of life save to hold her in his arms. 

From the first she was strangely gracious to his suit, 
showing herself frankly anxious to please him. She 
donned her fairest dresses, sang her sweetest songs, 
exercised her wits to entertain him, displaying each 
day some fresh charm, and leading him on to love her 
with an adorable mixture of elusive gaiety and shy en- 
couragement. She made no secret of her pleasure in 
his company, and her guardian, old Sir John Defraine, 
congratulated Anthony roundly on his conquest. 

48 


THE WOOING O’T 


49 


^‘Egad, sir! Lady Betty Acton warned us you were 
a man o’ some mettle, but I scarce hoped you’d win 
the wench, who, mind you, has a rare spirit. Zounds! 
’tis a very miracle ! But two weeks syne she was 
swearing she would wed that pestilent rascal of a sing- 
ing-master, or go virgin to her grave, and here she has 
fallen into your hand like a ripe plum. Plague on’t, 
Claverton ! Methuselah himself had scarce time to 
master all the vagaries o’ the sex. Best not play lag- 
gard, my boy. Bring the matter to an end and let the 
marriage-bells start a-ringing.” 

Lady Defraine also expressed her delight at his suc- 
cess, though in more gentle terms. She was a stately, 
white-haired lady, with a peculiarly still manner, and 
sad eyes which brightened only when they rested on 
her niece. 

believe you have won my child’s heart. Sir An- 
thony, ’ ’ she said one day, as they sat together on the 
terrace, while Sylvia sang at her spinet, ‘^and I thank 
you. I would be loth to force a girl to wed against her 
will, but the other affair was too terrible.” She gave a 
little shiver as she spoke, and tears gathered in her 
eyes. 

Anthony put the question he had long desired to 
ask: 

“How did she make acquaintance with the fellow?” 

“With Eobert Wilton? He is a teacher of music in 
Gloucester city, and came over here once a week to 
give her lessons on the harp. He had the manners of a 
gentleman, delighted Sir John by his skill with the 
foils, and sang like a seraph. But I never dreamed the 

child would so stoop . I was careless, perhaps. 

Frequently he would stay the night when the roads 
were bad, they were much together, and — she saw no 
other men. I believe also he wooed her by some cock- 
and-bull tale of work for the Stuart Cause; she was 


50 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


ever Jacobite at heart. In fine, she believed herself in 
love, and commanded her guardian to prepare her 
marriage settlements. ’ ’ 

Anthony laughed softly as he pictured the scene that 
must have ensued. 

‘‘And Sir John he asked. 

“Heaven keep him from another such fury!” she 
cried. “I thought, certes, he would kill the fellow. 
The end of it was that Wilton was forbidden to set foot 
in the neighbourhood, and we arranged this marriage 
with you. Her uncle would have kept her close, fear- 
ing she would run off with the man, but she promised 
her dead father she would never wed without her 
guardian’s consent, and Sylvia could not break faith.” 

“But — do you think it possible she has forgotten the 
rascal?” asked Anthony doubtfully. 

“What else? Has she not plainly shown us, this ten 
days past, how she rejoices in your company? I know 
not, sir, what may be the present fashion at St. James’s, 
I hear the good Queen’s Court is strangely liberal, and, 
certes, Sarah Jennings boasts no gentle blood; but for 
my part, I should hope no gentlewoman would so ex- 
press her preference for any man unless she regarded 
him indeed as her future husband.” 

But despite this encouragement from Sylvia’s rela- 
tions, Anthony was full of doubt. He remembered the 
confidence with which Wilton had boasted of her love. 
Had the man fooled him? And if, indeed, she had 
loved him then, could any woman change so rapidly, 
least of all such a woman as Sylvia? He was loth to 
hold her fickle. Anthony had but a modest conception 
of his own attractions, and held himself but little 
skilled to win a woman’s heart. 

Sylvia was invariably gracious, but at times he sus- 
pected uncomfortably that her thoughts were far away. 
Once, indeed, she had let him hold her hand a little 


THE WOOING O’T 


51 


space on the moonlit terrace, and had suffered him to 
press it to his lips, but even then he had noted the rigid 
tension of her body and marvelled at the blanching of 
her cheeks. 

Of Eobert Wilton he had seen no more; the man 
had left the inn the day after their meeting. 

Day by day, though he longed to possess her, An- 
thony delayed putting his happiness to the test, doubt- 
ing how it were possible he could ever hope to be 
counted worthy to possess the treasure of her love. 
Yet, despite his doubts, he was no love-sick wooer. He 
joyed to bring the roguish twinkle into her eyes and to 
hear the low laugh ripple between her perfect lips. 
He had never met a woman so quick to understand 
him, so apt in the thrust and parry of wits. 

One afternoon, as they were returning together from 
a long ride in the valley, she turned to him abruptly. 

‘‘Sir Anthony, though ’twould seem you endure this 
long banishment from Town with commendable cour- 
age, I marvel how St, James’s can endure lacking your 
presence. ” 

“Faith!” he answered solemnly, following her mood, 
“I am hourly expecting a deputation entreating my 
return. ’ ’ 

“And what answer shall you give them?” 

“They will require none, madam. After beholding 
you they will likewise take up their abode here.” 

“Gramercy!” she laughed. “ ’Twere more con- 
venient did we presently journey to Town and spare 
their labours. What say you? Shall we pull rein and 
head for London?” 

“Not I, madam. At St. James’s I must share your 
company.” 

‘ ‘ Then you do not hold variety gives savour to life ? ’ ’ 

“I’ faith, but I do, when variety is personified in one 
woman, ’ ’ 


52 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


She laughed lightly, then turned to him with a 
strangely provocative smile. “Do you hold me fickle, 
sir?’’ 

Anthony started. It was the question he asked him- 
self day and night. He turned and looked her straight 
in the eyes. 

“That, madam, is what I would give the world to 
know. ’ ’ 

She flushed beneath his glance, but the smile was 
still on her lips; she pricked her horse forward and 
looked back at him over her shoulder. 

“When he desires the solution of a riddle, sir, a 
wise man will take steps to discover it.” 

She broke into a canter and rode ahead. Anthony 
following, pondered on her meaning. Did she, too, 
long for the consummation of their wooing, and under- 
standing the reasons for his hesitation, encourage him 
thus to put his doubts to rest? He resolved to delay 
no longer. 

He rode behind her until they reached the Court. 
Then he did not call the grooms, but, leaving his horse 
to stand alone, he turned to help her dismount, and 
as he lifted her from the saddle he held her for a mo- 
ment in his arms, and whispered unsteadily: 

“Sylvia, will you be my wife?” 

She fell a-trembling, and broke from him quickly. 
Her face was white. Sir John Defraine appeared round 
the side of the house, his gun over his shoulder. Sylvia 
ran up the steps. 

“To-morrow, at seven o’ the clock, I will be in the 
wood where we were first acquainted,” she said breath- 
lessly. “There I will give you my answer.” 

She hurried into the house, and he saw her no more 
that evening. 

Anthony was out at sunrise the next morning. He 
had spent the greater part of the night pacing his room 


THE WOOING O’T 


53 


in a frenzy of impatience for the dawn, and when 
morning came he hastened to escape from the confine- 
ment of the house, since only in the wide spaces of 
the hills could he calm the wild tumult of joy in his 
heart. For since she herself had bid him go to her in 
the primrose wood, he no longer doubted that she re- 
turned his love. As he wandered through the sunny 
meadows, and down the cool glades of the woods, he 
marvelled that life should hold such happiness, and 
looked back on his former jovial and contented existence 
with a shiver of contempt. 

He sat long awaiting her in the little primrose glade, 
and when at last she appeared, moving slowly towards 
him beneath the arching boughs, he felt almbst choked 
by the wild beating of his heart. 

She paused just at the edge of the denser wood, and 
he crossed to her side. 

‘^Oh! Sylvia,” he murmured huskily. ‘^My Beauti- 
ful! My Beautiful! There’s nothing in the world but 
you.” 

She stood strangely still, and looked at him earnestly 
with her grey eyes. 

‘^Do you love me?” she asked slowly. 

He took her hand and faced her steadily. Heaven 
is witness, Sylvia, I love you better than my own soul. 
Life holds nothing now for me but your love.” 

She gave a strange little nod. am very glad of 
it,” she said quietly. have played for this.” 

Suddenly, she drew away her hand and stepped back, 
and he saw that her eyes were blazing and her bosom 
heaving with suppressed emotion. 

‘‘It is time. Sir Anthony, that this comedy should 
end,” she said sharply. “Time that you learn some un- 
derstanding of the woman you rode from London to 
woo as lightly as you throw the dice.” 

“Sylvia!” he cried blankly. But she hurried on in 


64 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


quick, breathless sentences, trembling with the force of 
her own passion. 

‘‘Do I not know ’tis my fortune you sought? Do I 
not know this affair of your wooing was a bargain ’twixt 
you and my godmother? Do I not know that when 
you came to me here that first morning and poured 
forth your pretty tale of the ‘one Woman in the 
World’ you were laughing at me in your heart for a 
simple country baby, so easily gulled? Do I not know 
you have wagered to win me, and purpose to carry me 
back to London, boasting your capture ? Ah ! that you 
should dare to take the name of Love upon your lips — 
you, who hold Love’s greatest glory nothing to the 
chink of gold.” 

He held out his hands entreatingly. ‘ ‘ Sylvia ! Sylvia ! 
what are you saying? Do you not love me?” 

“Love youf^^ she cried scornfully. “How should I? 
Is not my heart already given? Am I so light a thing 
that a new face and a velvet coat should turn me from 
my love? My dear love.” 

He raised his hand and dropped it with a little ges- 
ture of despair. His face beneath his sunburn was 
white and drawn. Sylvia eyed him curiously. 

“Yes, I believe now that you do love me a little, 
you do desire me; though, when you came you sought 
only my money,” she continued. “That is what I 
hoped, what I have played for from the first. For it is 
meet that such as you should be punished. Myself, I 
could have forgiven the shame you have put upon me. 
But — ” she drew in her breath with a sudden hiss of 
anger, “that you should have dared to rate so low one 
who has been found worthy the love of my Beloved! 
Ah! that I cannot forgive. For in dishonouring me 
you dishonour him, my Beloved.” 

She saw him wince at the low tenderness in her voice 
as she spoke of Robert Wilton, but she had no pity. 


THE WOOING O’T 


55 


'T am glad you love me, I am glad you desire me, 
for you will never call me yours. I would I were ten 
times more beautiful, more desirable, that so your pun- 
ishment might be the greater, you who have dared to 
rate my love at the value of a dicer’s throw.” 

He stood absolutely silent beneath the storm of her 
anger, his head bowed, his hands clenched, holding him- 
self rigidly in check. She looked so adorable in her 
anger, her low voice vibrated with such maddening ten- 
derness when she spoke of her love, it needed all his 
powers of restraint to keep himself from crushing her 
in his arms. 

His silence nonplussed her. She paused, stammered 
a little, looked with startled eyes at his bowed head, his 
still, rigid figure. For an instant her face softened, 
then she shook her head. 

‘‘No,” she said, almost defiantly. “No, you have 
your deserts. I do not pity you.” 

Then, indeed, he drew himself up and lifted his head 
to face her. His eyes blazed in the whiteness of his 
face. 

“I do not ask it, madam,” he said proudly. “As you 
say, I have my deserts.” 

He turned on his heel and walked steadily across the 
glade and back into the depths of the wood, leaving 
Sylvia standing in silence, looking after him with fright- 
ened eyes. But Anthony, when he had passed out of 
her sight, sank down upon a log, and, burying his head 
in his arms, sat so, for a long space, in silence. 


CHAPTER VII 


A COUP DE GRACE 
na, it winna’ do. 

I canna’, canna’, munna’, munna’, winna’ marry you.” 

G reat and dire was the anger of Sir John Defraine 
when his niece walked quietly into his presence at 
breakfast and announced that she had refused to marry 
Sir Anthony Claverton. He rated her in language that 
shocked even himself when he thought it over later, 
boxed her ears soundly, and sent her prisoner to her 
room, vowing that the marriage should take place within 
a week, willy-nilly. Lady Defraine, to whom Sylvia 
usually looked for an ally, was, in her quiet way, as 
angry as her husband, and expressed such scandalised 
horror at her niece’s conduct, that the poor child found 
her dream of herself as avenging goddess vanish sud- 
denly, and began seriously to doubt the wisdom and 
dignity of her recent conduct. She retired meekly to 
her room and tried to banish remorse from her heart 
by musing on her forbidden lover. 

When Anthony returned to the Court, he found Lady 
Defraine walking the terrace, awaiting his coming. He 
would have avoided her had it been possible. Finding 
an interview inevitable, he squared his shoulders and 
prepared to go through with it. His heart softened 
towards his hostess when he read the distress on her 
face. 

‘‘Sir Anthony, Sylvia’s conduct has so shamed me — 
I — I know not what to say. She has dishonoui'ed her 
name.” 


56 


A COUP DE GRACE 


57 

“Madam, I pray you — let the matter be!’’ he cried 
earnestly. “I will presently take my leave, and return 
to London.” 

She looked at him sadly. “I understand, sir. ’Tis 
but what must be expected. After such behaviour, 
’twere scarce likely you would wed her.” 

“Wed her, madam? Why, she has refused to hear 
a word of it.” 

Lady Defraine watched him anxiously, with furtive, 
sidelong glance. “Her guardian will not permit her 
to refuse it. If you were still willing, he would marry 
her to you, willy-nilly.” 

Anthony flushed. “I cannot do that, madam,” he 
said shortly. 

“Wherefore not, sir?” 

Anthony muttered something under his breath about 
“demmed cruelty.” Lady Defraine put her hand on 
his arm. “ ’Twere surely kinder than to leave her at 
the mercy of this rascal,” she pleaded. 

“She has an amazing tenderness for him,” said An- 
thony slowly. “Are you sure, madam, he is a scoun- 
drel?” 

“Absolutely sure,” she answered, in tones of such 
conviction that Anthony was impressed against his will. 

“But I can’t marry a woman against her will,” he 
said helplessly, “least of all Miss Defraine. Why, she 
— egad ! she hates the very sight o ’ me. ’ ’ 

“That cannot be true,” answered Lady Defraine 
firmly. ‘ ‘ The pleasure she has shown in your company, 
this past se’nnight, cannot have been all counterfeit. I 
know her, and I have watched her well.” 

“We’ll not discuss the matter, an’t please you,” he 
answered shortly; she was flicking him on the raw. 

“Nay, but. Sir Anthony,” she pleaded, “stay but 
another week. Remember, the child is very young, her 
affection for this scoundrel is a girl’s first fancy, strong 


58 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


bound with all her noblest dreams of love. But mar- 
riage with him would be her ruin. She already repents 
of her conduct towards you. I believe time, reason and 
— a trifle of discipline will still bring her to her senses. 
I pray you, stay.’’ 

Anthony hesitated. Pride bade him ride away at 
once, and bury his wounded heart in the riot of London ; 
but his love was stronger than his pride and held him to 
Sylvia’s neighbourhood even against his reason. More- 
over, though for the past week he had well-nigh for- 
gotten it, Louise Carew’s debt still hung like a mill- 
stone round his neck ; to refuse Lady Def raine ’s request 
would ruin him with his aunt. Desire and necessity 
alike still held him to Birdlip. He gave his consent. 

Yet had Anthony known how humiliating would be 
his position, of a surety he would never have remained. 
Old Sir John was never one to brook opposition from a 
woman. In season and out of season he raged about 
the affair, and swore the girl should wed her suitor if he 
had to drag her to church by the hair of her head. 
Hence Anthony found himself forced into the hateful 
role of the unwelcome lover, who, in conjunction with a 
tyrannical guardian, brutally seeks to break the will of 
a helpless girl. Such a role he felt more suited to the 
stage than to life, and even on the stage apt to be 
greeted with hisses. That he, Anthony Claverton, 
sworn bachelor, who had been known to go a mile round 
to avoid the society of women, should be called upon 
to play ^uch a part struck him as the most monstrous 
requital of an avenging Fate. 

‘‘Bedad!” he muttered ruefully. ‘‘Did Peter Wild- 
more, but hear of this, he would kill himself with laugh- 
ter. ’ ’ 

Yet, despite his mockery, Peter would assuredly have 
felt pity for his friend, for he was in truth the most 
miserable dog in Christendom. He wanted Sylvia so 


A COUP DE GRACE 


59 


desperately, that at times he scarcely cared how he won 
her so only she might be his; yet the knowledge that 
for his sake she was held prisoner, lectured daily by her 
aunt, and subjected morn, noon, and night to the fierce 
tirades or coarse gibes of her guardian, drove him to 
distraction. 

Each evening, after dinner, Sylvia was ordered to join 
their company in the withdrawing room, presumably 
that her suitor might have opportunity to urge his suit, 
and these hours were to Anthony a precious torture. 
There was none of your sullen, red-eyed prisoner about 
Sylvia. She would come in quietly and take her seat 
at embroidery or backgammon board as exquisitely 
dressed, as radiant in beauty, as calmly dignified, as 
though such affairs as disgrace and punishment were 
utterly unknown. Only she looked right through An- 
thony as though he did not exist, and she never smiled. 

Oh! those evening hours, how he longed for and yet 
dreaded them ! Lady Defraine was ever a silent 
woman; Sir John’s sole contributions to the conversa- 
tion consisted in long tales concerning various women 
of his acquaintance who had married against their 
parents’ wishes and come to, evil ends, tales little cal- 
culated to add to the bonhomie of the company. Sylvia 
answered all remarks with .chilling politeness and an 
air of abstraction, and the whole burden of the enter- 
tainment rested upon Anthony’s shoulders. He told 
long rambling tales, himself even more bored than his 
listeners; he read aloud; he played cribbage; and al- 
ways he watched Sylvia for signs of relenting, with eyes 
so hungry for love that Lady Defraine sighed over her 
embroidery frame, and Sir John muttered deep curses 
into the depths of his beard. But Sylvia never even 
looked at him. 

Sometimes Lady Defraine bade the girl sing to them, 
and then indeed Anthony’s jealous misery reached its 


60 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


height. For, with a lover’s quick intuition, he realised 
how large a part music had played in her romance ; and 
when her voice sank in tenderness or rose in some pas- 
sionate ecstasy of Love, he knew that her soul flew forth 
on the wings of the music out through the misty country 
to the man who had won her heart. In good sooth, 
Anthony in those days tasted the dregs of misery and 
self-contempt. He would hardly have endured three 
days of it but for a small event which befell the second 
evening after Sylvia’s refusal to wed him. 

It was his custom every evening, after the ladies had 
retired, to stroll out into the meadows and smoke his 
pipe, preferring solitude and the fresh air to the alter- 
native of Sir John’s company in the stables. One 
bright, moonlight evening he had wandered some little 
distance from the Court, wrapped in meditations on 
Sylvia (for at this period of his existence it must be 
confessed Anthony was little better than a love-sick 
youth — a fact which he recognised with a certain dis- 
mal humour) ; suddenly he was roused from his dreams 
by a shout, and saw a man, about two flelds away, wav- 
ing to him frantically and calling for help. Anthony 
stared at him for a minute in amazement, then, as the 
fellow continued to call and beckon, he leapt the in- 
tervening ditch and ran across the flelds to join him. 
Just before he reached him the man shouted again and 
darted into a small wood which bordered the meadow, 
waving to Anthony to follow him. 

The wood was not very dense. As he entered its 
shadow Anthony saw the fellow still running ahead, at 
the end of a wide green drive ; then he turned abruptly 
to the left. Following at full speed, Anthony turned 
the corner after him and came to a sudden halt. 

Full in his path stood three men, sticks in their 
hands, eyeing him menacingly. He stared at them stu- 
pidly. 


A COUP DE GRACE 


61 


‘‘What^s amiss r’ he cried breathlessly. 

Without a word they lifted their sticks and rushed 
on him. 

Anthony had no weapon, save that with which Nature 
has endowed every man, and though he was an apt pu- 
pil of the renowned Figg, he was badly breathed after 
his run, and hopelessly outnumbered. He stood his 
ground and his fists did him good service, but in a few 
minutes he was forced to his knees, and it had gone hard 
with him but for an unexpected rescue. 

Almost at the instant when the encounter commenced, 
a man on horseback appeared at the far end of the ride, 
behind the attackers. He drew rein for a minute to 
watch the fight, then galloped quietly up to the scene 
and proceeded to lay about him heartily with his riding- 
whip on the heads and shoulders of Anthony’s opponents. 

This sudden intervention speedily changed the as- 
pect of the contest. The men, thus finding themselves 
between two fires, showed small stomach for an ill- 
matched fight when the odds were against them. After 
a few seconds of confused struggle they leapt aside into 
the undergrowth and sought to escape. Two of them 
succeeded, but the third was less fortunate; the horse- 
man darted forth a quick, strong arm, seized the fellow 
by the collar, and dragged him back into the ride. He 
gave him a little shake and set him on his feet, still hold- 
• ing him firmly. 

‘HVe small notion of the rights or wrongs o’ this 
quarrel,” he said coolly, looking doubtfully from An- 
thony to his opponent. ‘^But ’tis ever my custom to in- 
terfere in an ill-matched fight. If it be your pleasure to 
fight it out now, man to man, I’ll go bail there shall be 
no further interference.” 

^‘With all my heart!” cried Anthony. His temper 
was up and he chafed bitterly at his narrowly escaped 
defeat 


62 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


But the other showed a decided disinclination to fall 
in with the proposal. He was a rough, sullen, ne’er-do- 
weel, of the type that infinitely prefers a fight in which 
victory is assured. He shook his head and muttered 
incoherent excuses. 

The horseman sighed. ‘‘You won’t fight, eh? Then 
be off with you.” He loosed his hold on the man and 
he scuttled off down the drive at full speed. Anthony 
sprang forward after him, but the horseman barred his 
way. 

“Allow me, sir, to remind you of that detestable jade, 
Prudence,” he said coolly. “The rascals will forgather 
and be at you again. Han’t you had enough of your 
ill-matched encounter ? ’ ’ 

Anthony looked up angrily. He could see little of 
the man’s face behind his riding mask, but the eyes that 
smiled down into his were singularly bright blue in 
colour, and strangely piercing, and his supple hands 
were as white as a woman’s. 

“Why did you let the fellow go?” he demanded 
angrily. 

The other shrugged his shoulders. “What judge am 
I in your quarrel? For aught I know you are as big a 
rascal as he is, though somewhat more ready with your 
fists. To be frank with you, I found your manner of 
facing them commendable, but if you had never put 
yourself against such odds I’d have had a higher notion 
of your discretion.” 

“Well, I — I’m monstrously grateful for your inter- 
vention,” said Anthony grudgingly. 

The other laughed softly. “You’ve need to be if you 
hold your life at any value. These rascals meant mis- 
chief. By your leave, sir. I’ll see you to the edge o’ 
the wood.” He touched his horse’s neck with the reins 
and rode forward, Anthony limping beside him. Once 
out in the open fields the man drew rein. 


A COUP DE GRACE 


63 


‘‘111 bid you good he said abruptly. 

Anthony had recovered his temper. “My sword is at 
your service, sir, if ever I can requite you,’’ he said 
gratefully. “My name is Anthony Claverton, of Clav- 
erton Abbey, in Somerset.” 

The horseman started and gave a low laugh. “I’ve 
heard tell of you, sir.” Then his voice hardened. 
“ ’Twould seem you have an enemy, who is ignorant of 
the fact that a gentleman fights in the open. I am 
heartily glad I was at hand to-night.” 

Without further words, he turned his horse’s head and 
rode back into the wood, leaving Anthony to trudge 
back to the Court with aching head and smarting 
bruises. 

There was small need for him to ponder over the 
reason of the attack. He was popular in the village, 
being one gifted with the right word for every man 
and the ready jest. So far as he knew, none had a 
grudge him, save his rival, Mr. Robert Wilton. Yet, 
much as he despised the man for his methods, he could 
have blessed him for this attack; the threat of danger 
gave him back his manhood, lent a little zest to a life 
that was fast becoming intolerable. It would have 
cheered him mightily to meet his enemy face to face. 
Every evening, sword at side, he sallied forth in hope 
of an encounter. 

But alas! no further adventure came to hearten him, 
and by the end of the week he found his endurance at an 
end. He made no progress in his suit, and Sylvia’s face 
grew pale in her imprisonment. He went to Sir John 
and spoke his mind freely. 

“How the plague, sir, can I win your ward’s affections 
if she learn to look on me as the cause of her sufferings ? 
Either you give her freedom, and — and^ — er — speak her 
fair, or I take my leave of you. ’ ’ 

Sir John stormed and grumbled, but finally gave way. 


64 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


Sylvia was released from confinement and free to wan- 
der where she would, and, for a time at least, spared Sir 
John’s reproaches. 

But Anthony found his own prospects in no wise 
improved by her freedom, for she persistently denied 
him her company. She refused point-blank to ride with 
him ; if he followed her into the garden she straightway 
returned to the house, and if he tried to force her to a 
conversation she fled at once to the stronghold of her 
room. He was in despair, when at last the Fates gave 
him opportunity. 

At one corner of the garden ran a narrow, unkempt 
shrubbery, sheltered by a white veil of blackthorn, and 
bordered on one side by a low, stone wall, beyond which 
the ground fell away abruptly to the valley. Anthony 
was passing through this wilderness one afternoon on 
his way home from a stroll, when unexpectedly he came 
across Sylvia, standing with her elbow on the wall and 
her face leaning on her hand, gazing westward over the 
wide stretch of country. Her back was towards him 
and she had not heard his footsteps over the soft moss- 
grown walk. Anthony hesitated a moment, then left the 
path and stood close behind her. 

‘‘Madam,” he began, “there are certain matters of 
which I earnestly desire to speak with you. Will you 
not hear me?” 

He saw her start violently at his voice, but she did not 
answer or turn her head, and he noted that her neck 
and the oval of her cheek, visible through her curls, 
crimsoned suddenly. 

“Really, madam, ’twere only — er — ^just to hear me,” 
he urged. 

Still she did not speak, but her whole body was 
a-tremble, as though with some rigidly controlled emo- 
tion. He moved quickly to her side and, stooping, 
peered at her face below the brim of her hat. He drew 


A COUP DE GRACE 65 

back with a little cry of dismay. ‘‘For pity^s sake, 
madam ! ’ ’ 

He had seen that she was weeping bitterly, the tears 
streaming down her cheeks, while she fought fiercely to 
regain her self-control and hide from him her weakness. 
Her hands were clenched, her body held rigid, her sobs 
strangled in her throat, but the tears still welled from 
the wide grey eyes, and her mouth quivered piteously. 
Her voice shook as she made answer: 

“What do you want with me. Sir Anthony?*’ 

But all Anthony’s carefully prepared appeals and 
reasoned arguments had fled from his mind. The sight 
of her beautiful face so piteously marred by her weep- 
ing robbed him of all his indignation against her. He 
remembered, for the first time, how very young she was ; 
he realised that, despite her proud dignity and steady 
defiance, she w’as but a very lonely, very helpless girl, 
bravely waging a hopeless struggle single-handed 
against her world. Impulsively he put his hand on 
hers. 

“By my honour. Mistress Sylvia, I swear I never 
knew the affair so — er — troubled you.” 

She stared at him blankly. “Not troubled me ! That 
my dear aunt turns from me in anger and my guardian 
treats me like a leper! That all the village gapes and 
gossips at my disgrace ! That I, who prize honesty as I 
prize my father’s memory, must stoop to scheme and 
shift and deceive to win my free right to love 1 What 
manner of woman do you hold me, that such matters 
should not trouble me!” 

All her self-control left her as she spoke; she bowed 
her head on her hands and wept frankly, bitterly. 

Anthony bit his lips and stared at her helplessly. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I did not know. You 
must indeed hold me a very devil; but — I did not know.” 

She lifted her head then, with a flash of her old pride. 


66 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


Would you have me hold my misery to the light for 
all the world to mock at?’’ she cried scornfully. And 
she turned away from him and sought once more to 
check her weeping. 

Anthony stared out gloomily at the western sky, where 
the mists were already creeping up to veil the setting 
sun. 

Madam,” he began tentatively, ‘‘your friends do 
not hold Mr. Wilton deserving of your affections.” 

“They do not know him, sir,” she answered quickly. 

“There are certain matters in his conduct, Mistress 
Sylvia, which ” 

She stopped him with a proud gesture. “I have 
heard so many lies concerning him. Sir Anthony, that I 
have ceased to give ear to his enemies.” 

“He has your trust absolutely, madam?” 

“How else, sir, w^hen he has my love?” 

Still Anthony stood staring out with unseeing eyes 
at the sinking sun. 

“Yet, madam, you will not be allowed to wed him,” 
he urged slowly. “How then will it advantage you 
if I — leave you ; other suitors will fill my place. ’ ’ 

She shook her head. “There would be — a respite. 
And — I think, did you now refuse to wed me, and take 
your leave, my aunt would soon cease to blame me, and 
all would be as it was before your coming.” 

She looked at him eagerly, but he did not turn to face 
her; he stood strangely still. 

“Mistress Sylvia,” he said unsteadily, “I — I swear I 
could make you happy.” 

“Only by leaving me,” she answered quickly. 

There was a little silence. The sun sank down into 
the mist, the end had come. He bowed his head: “You 
have your wish, madam.” 

She gave a little sigh of relief — of triumph. 

“I thank you, Sir Anthony.” 


A COUP DE GRACE 


67 


She paused a moment and then began to speak quickly, 
breathlessly, while crimson blushes flooded her face. 

am sorry — ashamed — of my wicked folly in the 
first days of your visit. ’Twas a shameful madness to 
seek to win a love I would despise. I was very glad 
when you showed me — these latter days — that I had lost 
your esteem. I knew I deserved no less.^’ 

He did not answer for a minute, but in that minute 
his face grew harder, and his eyes were very weary, like 
the eyes of one who looks down the length of the coming 
years and sees but a barren hope. He nodded his head 
and his lips twisted into a wry smile. 

‘‘Yes,^’ he answered slowly, ‘‘you are right. Had 
I learned to love you it would indeed — go hard with me 
now. ’ ’ , 

He turned abruptly and left her without another 
word. When she returned to the house, half an hour 
later, he had already taken his departure without bid- 
ding her farewell. 

It was the only act of discourtesy he had ever shown 
her. She pondered over it often in the days to come. 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE COMPANY OF THE MASQUERS 

“The light of the whole life dies, 

When Love is done.” 

A nthony rode alone along the wide white road 
which led eastward across the misty downs. Even- 
ing and solitude suited his mood, therefore he had sent 
his servant on ahead with a letter to Lady Sophia Car- 
dew, and took his leisurely way to London unattended. 
He was in truth in no hurry to reach his destination — 
it seemed to him there would never again be anything 
in the world w^orth hurrying for. In the letter to his 
aunt he had taken upon himself the whole blame for 
the failure of the marriage scheme she so eagerly de- 
sired. It was the last service he could render Sylvia 
Defraine and he joyed to do it ; but for himself he knew 
it spelt the ruin of his whole life. He had now no hope 
of paying the debt he had taken upon his shoulders ; he 
must stand before his friends a dishonoured bankrupt. 
But black though was the prospect before him, he gave 
as yet small consideration to the future. His whole 
being cried out for Sylvia. Wanting her love, it seemed 
to him neither life nor honour was worth a moment’s 
thought. He rode slowly, not only because he had no 
cause for hurry, but rather because each step took him 
further from her who alone could make life worthy. 

A horseman trotted towards him down the whiteness 
of the road, but Anthony took no heed of him. Only 
when the other pulled his horse sharply across his path, 
and, holding a pistol at his head, ordered him peremp- 

68 


I 


THE COMPANY OF THE MASQUERS 69 

torily to put up his hands, did he wake out of his ab- 
straction with a startled imprecation of anger. He sat 
for a second without moving, staring at the mouth of 
the pistol. 

‘^By my faith!’’ he said slowly, ’twould prove the 
easiest way out of a demmed miserable tangle. ’ ’ 

His conduct seemed to surprise the highwayman, but 
as Anthony still made no movement, he reached across 
and prudently pulled the pistol from his holster. 

‘‘Now for your guineas,” he said sharply. “Be 
quick.” 

Anthony shook his head. “You are heartily welcome 
to my life.” 

The highwayman laughed suddenly. “Why, what the 
plague’s amiss with you, man? Death comes to all of 
us and ’tis well to be prepared, but stap me 1 if I wouldn’t 
have a bid for life.” 

“Is yours a profitable profession?” asked Anthony 
slowly. 

‘ ‘ I trust ’twill prove so when I ’ve emptied your pock- 
ets,” answered the other, with a laugh. “Come, be 
quick. ’ ’ 

“Could you, for instance, make three thousand guin- 
eas in the space of three months?” continued Anthony, 
unmoved. 

The highwayman’s face changed, a look of interest 
deepened in his eyes. 

“Who are you?” he asked abruptly. 

“My name is Anthony Claverton. Fifty guineas and 
a good horse is the sum of my possessions. If you can 
put me in the way of winning three thousand guineas 
in three months, egad! you are welcome to my life.” 

The highwayman nodded thoughtfully. “Three 
thousand guineas,” he muttered. 

“Ay. A big price for a worthless life, I grant you.” 

The other shook his head. He lowered his pistol and 


70 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


reined back his horse alongside Anthony’s. They be- 
gan to ride forward slowly, side by side. 

‘‘Hark you,” he said thoughtfully, “there are times 
when a man who sets no value on his life is worth a 
king’s ransom. If you care to ride with me to-night, 
sir, I ’ll take you to one who will tell you more than I can 
of this matter.” 

Anthony stared at him. “Do you mean to tell me, 
fellow, that you can set me in the way o’ winning the 
money I lack?” 

The other nodded. “Belike I can, if you value your 
life no higher than that. "Will you ride with me?” 

Anthony hesitated, but not for long. Already hope 
was beginning to steal into his life. For if he could but 
win this money, save his honour, fulfil his promise to 
Louise Carew, why, then he would be once more a free 
man — free to watch over Sylvia, to serve her, to win 
her friendship, and it might be (since Hope grows 
quickly and the Fates were once more showing them- 
selves kind) — it might be yet granted him to win her love. 

With a light in his eyes and a smile on his lips he 
turned to his companion. 

‘ ‘ My friend, I know not whether you ’ve dropped from 
the clouds, or travelled post from Hades. But I’ll ride 
with you if it be to the devil himself.” 

“Many have held him little better than the devil,” an- 
swered the other grimly. “But don’t mistake me, Sir 
Anthony. There’ll be full price asked in life or honour, 
before you touch the guineas you ride to win. ’ ’ 

A little cloud darkened the dawning hope in Anthony’s 
heart. Yet he would not draw back. Life was not so 
sweet to him that he feared to risk it, and for his honour 
— was not that already at stake? 

“Be sure I’ll not shrink from the price,” he said 
curtly, and the bargain was sealed. 

They journeyed a little way farther down the road 


THE COMPANY OF THE MASQUERS 71 

and then turned aside on to the Downs, and so galloped 
for over an hour across wdde stretches of country, 
through little sleeping hamlets, skirting the lonely 
ridges of the hills. Anthony noticed that the highway- 
man never once lost his air of vigilance, but rode ever 
with his hand on his pistol and one eye on his compan- 
ion. 

For the most part they rode in silence, but when at 
length they stopped to breathe their horses before be- 
ginning a long ascent, Anthony gave voice to his curi- 
osity. 

‘'Where are you taking me?’’ he asked bluntly. 

“To the Captain of our Company,” was the curt reply. 

“What Company?” persisted Anthony. 

“The Company of the Masquers,” answered the other 
impatiently. 

“Beshrew the ignorance of St. James’s!” cried An- 
thony ironically. “Never to have heard tell of so wor- 
shipful a Company.” 

The highwayman smiled grimly. “There be many in 
St. James’s who know us plaguily well, but ’tis not an 
acquaintance they are like to confess to — in public.” 

“What’s the name of this Captain of yours?” per- 
sisted Anthony. 

“Michael Lefroy.” 

Anthony shook his head; the name conveyed nothing 
to him. The other laughed. 

“You’ve never heard tell of him? By the Saints! 
there are many things unknown in yon little corner of 
England that lies ’twixt the river and Piccadilly 
meadows. But here we are.” 

A low, white farmhouse loomed out of the night, 
against the darkness of a little copse. It stood almost 
at the top of the slope, alone in the dreamy silence of 
the Downs. It was an old house, with a square court- 
yard, round which ran all the outbuildings, facing in- 


72 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


ward as though for defence. But the wide gates of the 
courtyard stood hospitably open, and lights in the win- 
dows gave promise of welcome. A loud barking of dogs 
heralded their approach, and when they rode through 
the gates a sturdy groom was already in waiting to take 
their horses. 

Anthony’s guide led him into a small outer hall pan- 
elled with dark wood, and dimly lighted. On a table 
in the centre stood a jug of sack and some cold pastyi 
Bidding him make himself at home, he passed on through 
the inner door and left him to his own devices. 

For twenty minutes Anthony waited in solitude. 
From a distant part of the house came the sound of 
men’s voices and laughter, and at times he heard the 
echo of hoofs in the courtyard without. But the room in 
which he waited was very still. Once, indeed, he had a 
curious feeling that eyes were peering at him through 
the dimness, but he bore their scrutiny with stolid in- 
difference, and at length a servant appeared with a 
lamp and respectfully begged him to follow him. 

They went down a long gloomy passage and thence 
passed suddenly into a large, brilliantly lighted room. 
Down the centre ran a long table, plentifully bestrewn 
with bottles, glasses and packs of cards; and at the far 
end near the wide fireplace, lying at ease on the settle 
and nursing a small brown spaniel, was the renowned 
Captain of the Company of Masquers, Michael Lefroy. 

He rose courteously on Anthony’s entrance, a tall, 
spare man, his handsome features and serious mouth 
almost ascetic in their clear-cut perfection, his fair hair 
hanging in shining love-locks round his head. His 
eyes were very blue in colour and singularly alert, a 
curious contrast to the dreamy expression of his face. 

‘‘We have met before. Sir Anthony,” he said, by way 
of greeting. “I’m rejoiced to learn from Tom Eccles, 
here, you’ve a mind to join our Company.” 


THE COMPANY OF THE MASQUERS 73 

Anthony started at the sound of his voice and looked 
sharply at the speaker. ‘‘Was it you who sent those 
rascals at Birdlip to the right-about?^’ 

“You are as ready with your eyes as with your fists, 
sir. A worthy recruit to our Company.” 

“Tell me of this Company,” he answered bluntly. 

Lefroy motioned him to a chair. Tom Eccles, who 
stood leaning against the chimney-piece, stepped for- 
ward and poured him out a glass of wine. 

“The object of our Company,” began Lefroy, throw- 
ing himself again on to the settle, “is similar to that of 
the Royal East India Company and the Virginia 
Company, to wit, the winning of wealth by diverse 
ventures. It is my pleasure to direct these ventures, 
and a fourth of the moneys thereby secured is forfeit to 
the Company.” 

“Of what nature are such ventures?” asked Anthony 
curiously. 

Lefroy laughed softly. “Of every nature that offers 
profit. Those of our Company who are gifted with a 
presentable apeparance and — er — a winning tongue, we 
cause to become acquaint with marriageable heiresses; 
we speed their wooing by such opportunities of — er — 
displaying their prowess as may serve to win the ap- 
proval of the lady, and if it comes to a runaway match, 
we — er — check the pursuit. To others, we give occasion 
to render signal service to elderly and childless gentle- 
men of unquestioned wealth. There is again great 
source of profit in rich ladies of Jacobite affections; 
messages of small import can be carried across the 
Channel at no risk, but great reward. Certain of us 
dabble in politics. For those among us who have pref- 
erence for greater hazard and — er — more honesty, there 
remain the ventures of the Road.” 

He nodded towards Tom Eccles as he spoke the last 
words, and reaching out his hand to a small box of 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


74 

comfits at his elbow, selected one carefully and placed it 
between his lips. 

There was a moment’s silence, then Anthony gave a 
low laugh. 

‘'Egad! A very precious set of rascals!” he said 
heartily. 

Lefroy waved his hand lightly. “To every man the 
law of his own conscience. I’ll not deny we number 
some rare rogues in our Company, but no more black- 
hearted scoundrels than many you’ve supped with not 
a dozen yards from Pall Mall.” 

“I grant you that,” agreed Anthony thoughtfully. 

“Then you purpose to join us, eh?” 

Anthony shrugged his shoulders. “My purpose is to 
win three thousand guineas. By what means, I care 
little.” 

Lefroy nodded. “You’ll understand, Sir Anthony, 
there are certain — er — regulations. As to the members 
of our Company, I alone have cognisance of them all. 
You will not be required to hold part in any venture 
which mislikes your honour, but you will obey my or- 
ders; should you refuse, it will be my affair to exact 
your obedience. For the rest, if you betray us — or any 
member of our Company, knowing him to be such, you 
die. You understand?” 

Anthony faced him steadily. “Be he the greatest 
rogue unhung, Captain Lefroy, it is not my custom to 
betray a comrade,” he said shortly. 

“Good. Pass me the wine, Tom. We will pledge 
Sir Anthony a member of our Company. You come in 
a lucky hour, as Eccles knows; I have work to hand 
well suited for one who lays a price on his own head.” 

“What would you have me do?” asked Anthony 
stolidly. 

Lefroy rose slowly to his feet, and, crossing to An- 
thony, seated himself on the table beside him. 


THE COMPANY OF THE MASQUERS 75 

‘‘Look you, Claverton, it’s not to be doubted you can 
call to mind the terms of a wager laid at White’s on the 
twentieth of March last, betwixt Mr. Soames and the 
Marquis of Normanton.” 

Anthony started. “Egad! yes. Ten thousand to one 
in guineas that Soames would not, within three months, 
have in his possession the. Cordon-bleu of King Louis of 
Prance. ’Twas generally believed that both were drunk 
at the time and would not hold to the wager, but it still 
stands in the wager-book at White’s.” 

“Yes, it stands. And Mr. Soames is no man to let 
ten thousand guineas slip through his fingers.” 

“But — the Cordon-bleu! Surely His Majesty wears 
it always on his person? Her Grace of Queensberry 
had it from the Due de Choiseul that King Louis holds 
it as sacred as his crown.” 

“Exactly. ’Twas the gossip of Her Grace concern- 
ing it that gave rise to the wager.” 

“But heavens, Lefroy! a man would be crazy who 
tried to steal aught from the sacred person of His 
Majesty of Prance.” 

“Ay!” answered Lefroy meaningly. “But what if 
the man values his life at three thousand guineas, the 
price to be paid for success?” 

Anthony set his glass down suddenly and turned to 
stare at Lefroy in sudden comprehension. His lips 
formed into a long, low whistle of dismay. 

Lefroy laughed softly. “Does the venture take you, 
sir?” 

Anthony’s face flushed, an unwonted gleam of ex- 
citement brightened his eyes, his fingers played un- 
consciously about the hilt of his sword. Lefroy 
watched him closely and gave a little nod of satisfac- 
tion. 

“I’ll be frank with you, Claverton; there’s more in 
this matter than meets the eye. The Marquis of Nor- 


76 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


manton and Mr. Soames are rivals for the favour of 
a certain lady — you take me?’’ 

Anthony nodded. know of whom you speak. 
What then? Is it she desires this jewel?” 

‘‘ ’Tis she has inspired the wager. It seems Nor- 
manton boasted he would prove his mettle by any serv- 
ice she demanded, and the lady in a frolic proposed 
this enterprise. He drew back, vowing it an impos- 
sibility, and when Soames made mock of his refusal the 
Marquis sought to save his credit by laying this wager. 
He deems his guineas safe.” 

Anthony followed Lefroy’s explanation closely, and 
gave a low chuckle of amusement. 

‘‘Plaguy cunning of Normanton,” he murmured 
admiringly. 

“You’ll easily comprehend that Mr. Soames has a 
desire to win this wager,” continued Lefroy coolly. 
“He is prepared to pay us five thousand guineas if this 
blue ribbon with the Cross of the Grand Master of the 
Order attached to it be in his hands before June is 
out. ’ ’ 

Anthony looked up quickly. “How comes it Soames 
knows of your Company?” 

Lefroy’s face assumed an absolutely blank expression. 

‘ ‘ Who can say ? Mr, Soames has a wide acquaintance, 
and an iron in many fires. He has appealed to the 
Masquers to carry out the scheme, and for the honour 
of the Company and for the guineas’ sake I would not 
have him disappointed.” 

“But — but the thing’s impossible,” urged Anthony 
slowly; yet the light of adventure still shone in his 
eyes. 

“Demmed impossible to one who has no great knowl- 
edge of the language, otherwise I myself would have 
taken pleasure in handling the affair,” said Lefroy 
lightly. “But it is rumoured of you that you speak 


THE COMPANY OF THE MASQUERS 77 

French like a — a Jacobite; you are of — er — personable 
appearance, quick of eye, and ready of hand. More- 
over, according to your own showing, you value your 
life at the price o’ the jewel. You are in every way 
equipped for the work. What say you?” 

In vain Anthony tried to sober his judgment, to 
ponder the wisdom and folly, the rights and wrongs of 
the undertaking. The reward would save his honour, 
would pay the debt he had taken upon his shoulders; 
the enterprise was hare-brained, the chances of failure 
incalculable. Thus he strove to weigh the matter and 
seek counsel of his reason. But all the time he knew 
which way he would choose. For his heart beat high 
with eagerness to be out upon the Great Road; his 
spirits spurred him on to the adventure, and he saw 
before him that chance which comes so seldom to men 
of his class, the chance to go forth and venture all for 
honour, to stand alone with only his wits and his sword 
’twixt him and death. Yet he strove to appear a model 
of prudence. 

‘‘If I succeed ?” he questioned slowly. 

“You will have your three-fourths of the reward. 
You may look to us to see that Soames does not cheat 
you of his promise.” 

“And if I fail ?” 

“You will be hanged as an English spy — or worse,” 
answered Lefroy coolly. He knew his man. 

The hint of the danger sufficed. Anthony gave his 
sword-hilt a little tap with his hand, and rose to his 
feet. 

“When do I start for Paris?” he asked nonchalantly. 

Lefroy laughed and held out his hand. “So! ’tis a 
bargain. Plague take it! I’d give my ears to ride 
with you. You are blessed by Fortune, sir.” 

“Stap me. Captain! But ’tis something of a step- 
mother’s blessing,” said Tom Eccles grimly. 


78 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


Lefroy slipped from the table and stood opposite 
Anthony, his piercing blue eyes fixed on his face. 

‘'You have definitely undertaken this affair?” he 
asked gravely. 

“I have,” answered Anthony briefly. 

“Then you’ll bear in mind, Claverton, that you do 
not speak of this to any living man until the venture 
be concluded. Further, that if you now shrink from 
the undertaking, or let any private affairs stand in the 
way of its fulfilment — you have me to reckon with.” 

Anthony nodded. “I take you,” he said curtly. 
“If I return to England it will be with the Cordon- 
bleu in my hand. ’ ’ 

“Good! Be ready to start in a week. Be at the 
‘Golden Dolphin’ in Fleet Street at noon on Wednes- 
day next and ask for Tom Eccles. He will give you 
money for the journey, which I shall make it my busi- 
ness to procure from Mr. Soames. Certain of our 
Company will ship you over to the coast of France — 
thence you must trust to your own wits.” 

“And the favour of Fortune,” interposed Anthony 
devoutly. 

“Exactly. If you — er — when you return, you will 
report yourself at the ‘Golden Dolphin.’ You will 
hear of me there. Good-bye, sir, and luck go with you. ’ ’ 

Tom Eccles stepped forward. “I’ll set him on his 
way to the London road; I’ll go bail he has small no- 
tion where he is.” 

Lefroy nodded, and turning back to the settle, took 
up a small book that lay there. The others crossed the 
room side by side. But before they reached the door it 
was opened suddenly from without and a man in hat 
and long riding-coat appeared on the threshold. An- 
thony started back with a little cry of amazement; he 
found himself face to face with Robert Wilton. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE BARGAIN 


EFROY looked up quickly at Anthony’s exclama- 



I J tion and a slow smile dawned in his eyes as he 
saw the two men facing one another in the doorway. 
He rose slowly and crossed to join them. 

’Twould seem your coming is a trifle inopportune, 
Wilton,” he drawled. ‘‘Yet doubtless it is well Sir 
Anthony should know you a member of our Company.” 

Wilton stood glaring savagely at Anthony. “What 
does he here?” he muttered angrily. 

“Sir Anthony is likewise one of us,” answered 
Lefroy airily. 

Wilton’s face changed. “Why — why then ” he 

stammered. “How comes it he has crossed my trail 
and scared my quarry?” 

Lefroy shrugged his shoulders. “Every man has a 
right to woo where he will. If your report be true he 
has done you small injury.” 

All this time Anthony had stood silent, exercising a 
rigid self-control. Now he turned suddenly on Lefroy. 
“Am I right in surmising that this fellow urges his suit 
on — on a certain lady of quality, by your connivance?” 

Lefroy nodded. “Did I not tell you. Sir Anthony, 
that one of the ventures in which our Company engages 
is the provision of suitable mates of marriageable 
heiresses?” 

“You damned scoundrels!” 

Tom Eccles took a quick step forward, but Lefroy 
stopped him by a gesture. 

“To every man his own opinion. Sir Anthony,” he 
said coolly. “Your somewhat — er — ^ill-chosen expres- 


79 


80 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


sion is but natural from one who is, I understand, a 
rival for the lady ’s affections. ’ ’ 

^‘Say rather for her fortune,’’ said Wilton bluntly. 
‘‘Look you, what’s to choose betwixt us? ’Tis well 
known you wooed her at command. What more do I ? ” 

“She believes in you,” muttered Anthony. 

“Ay. And did you never seek to make her believe 
in your devotion?” sneered Wilton. 

Anthony stood silent. How could he speak in such 
company of his love for Sylvia? Moreover Wilton was 
undoubtedly in the right; on the surface what was 
there to choose between them? Only the thought of 
abandoning her to the tender mercies of Robert Wilton, 
of suffering her to fall victim to this Company of 
rascals, tortured him. 

Lefroy stepped forward. “For my part, Claverton, 
I do not see of what you have to complain. Neither of 
you is debarred from wooing the lady. Let her choose 
betwixt you.” 

“She has already chosen,” said Wilton triumphantly. 

Anthony winced. “She knows nothing of your 
rascality,” he cried hotly. 

Wilton stepped forward angrily, but Lefroy turned 
to him quickly. “You’ll not deny,* Wilton, it’s only 
reasonable Sir Anthony should find the matter plaguily 
vexatious. More especially as he leaves England in a 
w^eek on a mission of — er — some difficulty. A mission,” 
he continued meaningly, “from which he has no pos- 
sibility of withdrawing.” 

Anthony started. On a sudden he saw how he was 
fettered. He had given himself up into the hands of 
the Masquers ; he could not draw back save at the price 
of his life. 

As for Wilton, a look of relief crossed his face, and 
his scowl vanished. 

Lefroy continued quietly: “Under the circumstances 


THE BARGAIN 


81 


’twere only justice to give Sir Anthony a certain free- 
dom of action. Let us say then that he is at liberty to 
tell the lady all he knows concerning Wilton, on condi- 
tion that he also informs her that he is himself a mem- 
ber of our Company, and wooed her for the sake of her 
fortune. ’ ’ 

Tom Eccles gave a low chuckle of amusement, but 
Wilton shook his head. ‘‘No, I do not accept that. I 
have a right to a free hand in this affair. ’ ’ 

Anthony wheeled round on him savagely. “A right, 
have you?’’ he shouted. “Then be prepared to fight 
for’t.” 

“With all my heart,” cried Wilton, drawing his 
sword. Lefroy stepped between them. 

“No,” he said quietly, “there will be no sword-play 
over this affair; we have matters more important to- 
ward. You mark me, Wilton?” 

A moment Wilton hesitated; a peculiar light crept 
into Lefroy ’s eyes, his mouth hardened. 

“ ’Fore Heaven!” he said sharply, ‘^if either of you 
draws his sword upon the other, he will have me to 
deal with.” 

Wilton sulkily pushed back his weapon, but Anthony 
clapped his hand to his sword and half drew it from 
the sheath. Tom Eccles’ restraining hand closed on his 
arm like a vice. 

“You fool,” he muttered. “You are plaguy ready 
to give Life the go-by.” 

Lefroy watched them with a little smile. “You take 
the matter too hard. Sir Anthony,” he said gently. “I 
can show you a dozen happy wives in St. James’s who 
owe their mates to the Masquers’ Company. We go 
surety their husbands shall treat them well. A 
woman’s heart, look you, is a strange matter; if this lady 
indeed has given her love to Wilton, what right have 
you to hold her from her desires?” 


82 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


Anthony hesitated: it were in truth her desire,” 

he muttered doubtfully. 

‘^Egad! you have a week before your departure in 
w^hich to convince her it is not, and to prove to her that 
Wilton’s object in wooing her is the same as — your own. 
Are you not satisfied?” 

‘ ^ Satisfied ! No, by Heaven ! How do I know you will 
not carry her off against her will?” 

Lefroy laughed. Faith! that is our custom on 
occasion. Believe me, sir, many o’ the happiest women 

have been wed by force. But in this instance ” he 

paused and glanced thoughtfully at Wilton. ‘^Look 
you. Sir Anthony, you are a member of our Company, 
and it’s not to be denied the affair goes hard with you. 
If the lady chooses of her own goodwill to marry Wil- 
ton, we give him what help he needs in the enterprise; 
but I go surety she shall not be taken by force until 
June be out and you are either at hand to protect her, 
or — where the affair will cease to concern you. You 
are content?” 

^'By the Saints, but I am not!” cried Wilton. 
too, am a member of the Company, and I claim the 
right ” 

Lefroy turned on him suddenly, again the strange 
glint shone in his eyes. 

‘‘Mr. Wilton,” he said coldly, “I was in Birdlip 
Woods o’ Friday evening last. I would have you un- 
derstand that it is not the custom of our Company to 
seek the help of hired assassins.” 

Wilton drew back, biting his lips with vexation. 
Lefroy turned to Anthony. 

“You are content, sir?” he asked quietly. 

Anthony stood silent, weighing the matter. But in 
his heart he knew he had no choice. These men held 
him in their power. If he sought to refuse the mission, 
repudiating his oath, he knew well he would not live 


THE BARGAIN 


83 


till morning, and his death would remove the last safe- 
guard from the woman he loved. Better rather to ac- 
cept the terms Lefroy offered; unless Sylvia of her 
own will should fly with Wilton, she was safe for two 
months, and in that time who could tell what might 
befall? 

But although he decided to follow the dictates of 
Prudence, it went sorely against the grain to submit. 
He would dearly have loved to settle the question with 
Wilton at the sword-point, and there in that lonely 
house, with these night-riders for witness, have faced 
his rival point to point, and proved which was the bet- 
ter man. It was with an ill grace that at last he 
lowered his hand from his sword-hilt, and, facing 
Lefroy steadily, made answer; ‘‘I am content!’’ 


CHAPTER X 


THE LOVE OF A LADY 

‘^Oh! the love of a lady’s a curious thing.” 

T he following morning Anthony rode into London. 

He proceeded at once to Lord Wildmore’s house 
in Soho Square, and announced his intention of there 
taking up his abode for a few days. He received a 
respectful but no less hearty welcome from the staid 
and solemn major-domo, and was at once ushered into 
the presence of his host. 

Peter was being shaved, but waved and spluttered 
him a glad greeting, his face alight with pleasure at 
prospect of his company. But while he slowly finished 
his toilet and retailed the latest gossip of the town, he 
scrutinised his guest closely with his shrewd, twinkling 
eyes, and gradually his look of pleasure gave place to 
one of consternation. He marked Anthony ^s weary 
eyes, his hard-set mouth, his gravity, and, above all, 
his silence. He feared the worst. Impatiently, he 
dismissed his man, and turned to face his guest, a figure 
of deep dismay. 

‘^Good Lord, Tony!’’ he groaned. ‘‘Are you 
married already?” 

To his relief Anthony’s grave lips relaxed into a 
grin. 

“Not I, Peter. I’m still an honest bachelor.” 

Peter still eyed him doubtfully. “Then what the 
plague’s amiss with you, Tony?” he urged. 

Anthony gave a quick sigh. “Matrimony is a more 
difficult matter to encompass than you think, Peter.” 

84 


THE LOVE OF A LADY 


85 


Peter shook his head. know/’ he said sympa- 
thetically. ^‘There’s the parson, the breakfast, the 
toasts; the matter o’ choosing the right cravat, and 
the kissing o’ the bridesmaids. 1 know. But for 
Heaven’s sake, don’t be so amazing gloomy about it, 
man. If indeed there ’s no help for it, I ’ll stand by you 
through it all.” 

Anthony laughed impatiently: ^ ^You’re hunting the 
wrong hare. I’m not contemplating matrimony.” 

‘^You’re not?” 

‘‘No, nor am I like to.” 

Peter’s face beamed like a sunrise. “Egad, Tony! 
I feel ten years younger to hear you say it!” he cried 
joyously. “But how comes it? Lady Betty Acton 
solemnly vowed to me you had ridden a-wooing Miss 
Sylvia Defraine.” 

Anthony winced. “I did so. But — the lady was 
not of a mind to be wooed.” 

“Do you mean she refused to marry?” 

Anthony nodded. 

Peter gave a gasp of astonishment. 

“ ’Gad! what a woman!” he murmured, in tones of 
genuine admiration. 

Then he again anxiously scrutinised his friend. 
“You’re plaguy ungrateful, Tony,” he said reproach- 
fully. 

Anthony laughed grimly. “ ’Twas an amazing es- 
cape, I grant you,” he said, with a touch of bitterness. 

But Peter’s face once more pictured dismay. “You 
are positive you have escaped, Tony? Women are 
amazing changeable creatures. Her coming post to 
Town after you left her, looks plaguily like — er — ^pur- 
suit.” 

Anthony sat up slowly. “Coming to Town?” he 
gasped. 

“What! You haven’t heard on’t? She and Lady 


86 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


Defraine arrived yesterday even. They are lodged at 
Chelsea, with your aunt, Lady Sophia.” 

Anthony sat silent, transfixed with astonishment. 
But his heart beat wildly and his spirits soared sud- 
denly into shining spheres of hope and gladness. 
Sylvia in London, within a mile of him ! Sylvia 
at hand to be gazed upon, to be spoken with, to 
be freely encountered in the merry circle of London 
society! Sylvia, to be watched and wooed and com- 
panied with — for a week! 

He sprang lightly to his feet; his face brightened, 
his eyes smiled. 

‘‘No! Egad! no. I never dreamed it,” he cried. 
He glanced down distastefully at his dusty exterior. 
“Where is that rascal of mine? Has he brought my 
mails? Plague take you, Peter, you’d keep me the day 
through, gossiping ! I must go dress. And then — 
why, then we’ll ride out to Chelsea and wait upon my 
honoured aunt.” 

He hurried from the room, blithely trilling: “Oh! 
mistress mine.” Peter stared after him in undisguised 
amazement; sadly he shook his head. 

“Holy St. Patrick!” he muttered. “And that man 
would have me credit his word that he is not contem- 
plating matrimony.” 

An hour later the two set out, side by side, for 
Chelsea. But they went no farther than the Mall, for 
there, standing demurely beside her godmother, and 
enjoying the first triumph of her debut in the proud 
circle of St. James’s, was Sylvia Defraine. Round her 
stood a posse of men, awaiting opportunity for pre- 
sentation, and at her elbow, exercising his unrivalled 
powers of monopoly, stood that most ardent lover, Sir 
Harry Ford. 

The two men drew rein promptly, and stood watching 
the group. Sylvia’s eyes were shining with the excite- 


THE LOVE OF A LADY 


87 


ment of her triumph, her lips were dimpling with smiles. 
For be a maid never so love-sick, if there be a spark of 
true woman in her she will still rejoice in the power of 
her beauty, and blossom like a flower in the sunshine of 
men’s homage. So her grey eyes laughed merrily up 
into the languishing orbs of Sir Harry Ford, she tilted 
her little chin saucily in reply to his extravagant com- 
pliments, and her whole being was haloed by the divine 
vitality of Youth. In short, she was adorable. 

But on a sudden she looked up and saw Anthony 
watching her, and instantly her face changed. The 
laughter died on her lips, her cheeks and brow flushed 
crimson, she lowered her eyes to the ground and dropped 
him a stiff little curtsey. 

Harry Ford turned in amazement to see who had 
wrought so marked a change in the demeanour of a 
lady whom he was so ably entertaining. When his 
glance fell upon the two horsemen, he started and his 
brows darkened with as near an approach to a scowl 
as was possible to this light-hearted lover. For gossip 
had not been silent concerning Claverton’s visit to 
Gloucestershire, nor had Lady Sophia, in her fury at 
his rejection of her goddaughter’s hand, remembered 
that wise anxiom: ‘‘Silence is golden.” 

For his part, Anthony was equally unmoved by 
Harry’s scowls, Sylvia’s blushes, and the eager glances 
of a score of curious eyes. He called up a foot-boy to 
take his horse, and, dismounting, crossed at once to the 
group under the trees. Men might laugh, and women 
might whisper — for himself, he had but a week. 

He put his hand on Harry’s shoulder, which stiffened 
beneath his touch, and bowed before the two ladies. 

“I give you greeting, Mistress Sylvia,” he said gaily. 
“What sweet west wind has wafted you to London? 
Madam,” he continued, turning to Lady Sophia, “your 
most dutiful servant.” 


88 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


The old lady eyed him with a grim smile. ‘‘By my 
petticoat! Nephew Anthony,” she said drily, “you do 
not lack audacity.” 

“I study, madam, to lack nothing likely to further 
me in your good favour,” he answered calmly. 

Lady Sophia snorted. “Always excepting a wife,” 
she retorted sharply. “Ah; my Lord Wildmore! per- 
mit me to present you to my goddaughter. Sylvia, 
child, we will walk a little. Nephew Anthony — your 
arm. ’ ’ 

Anthony found himself marched ahead by the reso- 
lute old lady, while Sylvia sauntered slowly after them 
in company with Peter and the adoring Harry Ford. 
His aunt eyed him curiously. 

“I little thought, Nephew Anthony,” she began 
sharply, “that my own sister’s son would live to prove 
himself a fool. What mislikes you in yon child that 
you will not wed her?” 

Anthony hesitated. “I — I wrote you my reasons 
from Birdlip, madam.” 

“Reasons? Call you that Reason?” she cried scorn- 
fully. “A parcel of ‘wills’ and ‘will nots.’ ” 

“ ’Twas the best I could give you, madam,” he an- 
swered submissively. 

“And monstrous small thought did you give to the 
insult to her.” 

Anthony started. “Insult!” he gasped. 

Old Lady Sophia shrugged her shoulders impatiently. 

“Beshrew me. Nephew Anthony, is’t possible you do 
not know how men tattle? It is well known that you 
rode down to Birdlip a-wooing, and that when you saw 
the maid you would have none of her. What husband, 
think you, could be found for a wench with such a tale 
for her dower?” 

This point of view was so utterly unexpected that 
Anthony could only stare at her in silent consternation. 


THE LOVE OF A LADY 


89 


Lady Sophia nodded triumphantly and continued : 

“The wisest act Lucy Defraine ever did was to bundle 
the poor child into a chaise and bring her post to me. 
The sight of the girl will give the lie to gossip, and I 
shall further let it be understood that it is my intention 
to make her my heiress.’’ 

She watched her nephew with a malicious smile in 
her eyes while making this announcement, but he did 
not gratify her by any display of emotion. 

“You could not find a more worthy object for your 
kindness,” he murmured calmly. 

Lady Sophia emitted a cackle of laughter and tapped 
him lightly with her fan. Angry with him though she 
might be, she approved this cool demeanour in face of 
evil fortune. “ ’Tis that wretch, Peter Wildmore, has 
taught you to shun the wholesome state o’ matrimony. 
You are a fool, boy, to wreck your fortunes. But go 
your ways. I shall dower the child Well and wed her 
to His Grace of Southwark, or maybe to your cousin 
James. She would make him a rare Countess.” 

Anthony winced under a sharp pang of jealousy. 

“What says Mistress Sylvia to such a proposal?” 
he asked bluntly. 

Lady Sophia laughed again. “She ‘thanks me 
humbly, but has already placed her affections.’ Tut! 
A month o’ Town life will rid her mind of that folly.” 

Anthony turned to her suddenly. He had dropped 
his mask of indifference, his face was drawn with 
anxiety. 

“Madam,” he cried earnestly, “ ’tis not so. This 
fellow holds her at his will. For Heaven’s sake save 
her from him.” 

She looked up quickly. “So! so!” she murmured 
thoughtfully. “ ’Twas to save her from the rascal I 
sent you down to Birdlip, Nephew Anthony.” 

“I know it, madam. I failed,” he answered briefly. 


90 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


‘‘Ah! I shall not fail,’’ she replied, with a confident 
smile. “Trust me, she shall see no more o’ the fellow.” 

Still Anthony looked anxious. “Believe me, madam, 
this is not so simple a matter as you hold it. This 
rascal will stand at nothing to win her, and — she has 
spirit.” 

But Lady Sophia laughed at his anxiety. “Lud, 
boy! do you take me for a simpleton? ’Tis an easy 
matter to keep guard over a girl. Go fetch my coach. 
I have walked enough.” 

Obediently Anthony signalled for the coach, looking 
in vain for a word with Sylvia; she was monopolised 
by her new-found admirers. His aunt bluntly refused 
his proffered escort, and somewhat pointedly excluded 
him from the invitation to dinner with which she hon- 
oured Sir Harry. But as he took Sylvia’s hand to help 
her mount to the coach, he felt a little friendly pres- 
sure of the fingers, and, looking down into her eyes, 
saw a smile lurking beneath the long lashes, while the 
little roguish dimple deepened at her lips. His hopes 
rose. He turned again to Lady Sophia. 

“Madam, with your permission I will wait upon you 
at two o’ the clock and escort you and Miss Defraine to 
the play.” 

Lady Sophia hesitated, nursing her indignation 
against her nephew. But the bait was well-chosen, she 
dearly loved the theatre, and Sylvia’s look of delight 
was not to be resisted. She nodded a grudging assent. 

To Anthony’s intense annoyance, when he reached his 
aunt’s house in Chelsea he found already assembled a 
large company of gentlemen, who had likewise con- 
ceived the intention of escorting Miss Defraine to the 
play-house. Lady Sophia smiled maliciously at his dis- 
comfiture, and Lady Betty Acton, who was of the party, 
hummed a vastly irritating ditty, concerning “He who 
will not when he may.” 


THE LOVE OF A LADY 


91 


Indeed, the whole company appeared to hold the 
opinion that, having refused marriage with Miss De- 
fraine in Gloucestershire, it was scarcely to be expected 
that he would seek her society in London. Sylvia her- 
self extended him a friendly greeting, but appeared 
little interested in his presence. 

Now all this proved most vexatious to the soul of 
Anthony, the more so that hitherto this lusty bachelor 
had by no means been wont to strive after woman ^s 
favour or intrigue for a monopoly of her society. He 
was no meet rival for Harry Ford in the field of gal- 
lantry. And since in all other walks of life he was ac- 
customed to hold his own, say his say, and take what 
he desired, it irked him now to find himself adroitly 
put aside and relegated to a far end of the barge, or a 
distant corner of the box, while Sylvia sat surrounded 
by more experienced wooers. 

So he sat unwillingly apart, glowering jealously at 
the group round the girl, and constraining himself to 
appear politely interested in the conversation of Lady 
Defraine. Lady Betty ventured to rally him on his 
silence. 

‘ ‘ Lud ! Tony, you ’re as mumchanee as a country dolt. 
What’s amiss? Does the bait prove more alluring when 
enhanced by other men’s desiring?” 

Anthony turned to her desperately. ‘‘For pity’s 
sake, Betty, help me to an occasion for speech with her 
alone.” 

But Betty laughed mockingly and shook her head. 
“Not I, i’ faith. If a woman wishes speech with a man 
trust her to find the occasion. If she desire it not — 
why, ’tis no cause for wonder after your rejection of 
her hand.” 

He turned away despairingly, but Betty tapped him 
on the arm. “Look, Tony, there’s a pretty fellow yon- 
der seems to share your desires. He hath not taken 


92 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


his eyes from the child since we entered the play-house, 
and I’ll wager my petticoat she’s not unmindful of his 
presence. Think you 

But Anthony gave her no time to finish her sentence. 
With a muttered exclamation, he sprang to his feet and 
hurried from the box ; for down among the groundlings, 
gazing at Sylvia with absurdly languishing glances, he 
recognised the person of Mr. Robert Wilton. 

With some little difficulty he made his way through 
the crowd and tapped his rival on the shoulder. Wil- 
ton had not seen him at the back of the box, and it was 
clear he was startled and somewhat nonplussed to find 
himself recognised. For a moment it seemed he in- 
tended to refuse Anthony’s request to accompany him 
outside the play-house, but a glance at the face of the 
latter decided him it were wiser to submit. With a 
shrug of his shoulders he turned and followed him. 

As they went out Anthony glanced up quickly at 
Sylvia. He saw that she had marked the encounter 
and watched them depart with anxious eyes. 

When they stepped out of the door Wilton turned on 
him sharply. 

‘‘What do you want with me?” he cried angrily. 

Anthony commenced to walk slowly up the street. 
“You’ll understand once and for all, Mr. Wilton,” he 
said coolly, “I shall not permit you to annoy by your 
attentions the lady who is at present in the care of my 
aunt. Lady Sophia Cardew.” 

“My attentions do not annoy her,” snapped Wilton. 

“Your antics go near to making her the laughing- 
stock of her friends,” retorted Anthony sharply. 

To his surprise, Wilton flushed crimson and caught 
his breath in a stifled groan. 

“What can I do?” he muttered. “I cannot come 
at her in this cursed city. I cannot speak with her. 
She will forget me.” 


THE LOVE OF A LADY 


93 


'‘And a monstrous lucky thing that would be/’ 
answered Anthony unsympathetically. “Look you, 
are there not other marriageable heiresses upon whom 
you might press your attentions?’’ 

“Ah! ’tis easy for you to turn elsewhere,” muttered 
Wilton, “you do not love her.” 

Anthony started. “What’s that?” he cried. 

“Oh! I’ll not deny I’m plaguily in need of her 
money,” continued Wilton frankly. “But^ — I love her, 
Claverton, I want her. Why — curse you! I’ve held 
her in my arms, I’ve kissed her lips. Should a man 
forget her after that?” 

“You — love her?” muttered Anthony blankly. 

“With all my soul. Is it to be marvelled at? Is she 
not the loveliest creature in Christendom? And her 
sweetness, her charm, her tenderness in loving! Ah! 
Claverton, I’d give my life to possess her.” As he 
spoke his voice shook with the intensity of his emotion 
and his eyes grew sad and wistful. Anthony stared at 
him in angry bewilderment. Again he was conscious 
of an uncomfortable doubt whether or no this man were 
really a blackguard. 

But to hear his own secret dreams of Sylvia thus 
voiced by another was unendurable. He interrupted 
him brusquely: “Were your devotion more in your 
heart and less in your breath, you’d off to the wars 
and win for yourself the right to woo her openly.” 

“And return to find her wed willy-nilly to some 
whipper-snapper of the Court,” retorted Wilton. “No, 
I do not leave her until she is fast mine.” 

“And you give no thought to her reputation? Are 
you indeed so out o’ the mode as not to know how the 
town tattles? What more like to give rise to scandal 
concerning a lady than for her to be haunted in public 
by an unknown admirer?” 

Wilton shrugged his shoulders callously. “If it 


94 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


come to that, what more like to reduce her guardian to 
consent to our marriage than a scandal concerning 
her ? ’ ’ 

Anthony gave vent to a muttered imprecation, but 
Wilton continued unmoved: 

‘‘What is her reputation to me? I want her. You 
cannot understand, Claverton; I love her, I will do 
anything in the world to win her.” 

“You shall answer to me if you cause a breath of 
scandal to touch her,” answered Anthony sharply. 

“I’d ask nothing better. But for the nonce, Lefroy 
will not have us fight.” 

“Lefroy! What is Lefroy to me!” cried Anthony 
scornfully. 

“Egad! you’ll learn the answer to that riddle if you 
cross his will,” answered Wilton drily. “He’s a very 
devil.” He paused, then continued abruptly: “Look 
you, Claverton, I’ve been plaguily patient with your 
insolence, but I warn you my stock o’ the virtue runs 
dry. I deny your right to interfere with my actions. 
If you do so again ’twill bring a scandal about the lady’s 
name by a public commotion. I tell you I love her and 
I shall possess her in the end.” 

He turned on his heel and strode away towards the 
river. But Anthony slowly pursued his way back to 
the play-house, musing amazedly upon the strange and 
divers ways of love. For he, too, deemed that he loved 
Sylvia dearer than his life, yet rather than let a breath 
of trouble darken her days he had deliberately and 
of set purpose turned his back on the hope of winning 
her. 

It was not long before he proved the truth of Lady 
Betty’s assertion that if a woman wishes occasion for 
speech with a man she will contrive it. That very 
evening at Lady Oxford’s rout, whither he had gone in 
the hope of meeting his divinity, he found his oppor- 


THE LOVE OF A LADY 


95 


tunity made for him. With a coolness and peremptori- 
ness impossible* save to one utterly innocent and careless 
of the malicious tongues of St. James’s, Sylvia dismissed 
the circle of her admirers and, beckoning Anthony to 
her side, announced her desire to speak with him apart. 
The commotion to which her simple request gave rise 
was amazing. Men scowled and ladies tittered, tongues 
clacked, eyebrows arched and heads nodded. For the 
most part, the women held it amazing ill-taste on 
Sylvia’s part so deliberately to pursue one who had re- 
fused to wed her, and Sir Anthony was deeply pitied 
as the victim of her wiles. 

‘ ‘ Lud ! the poor wretch ! ’ ’ cried Lady Sybilla Seaton. 
‘‘She’ll wed him willy-nilly.” 

“ I ’ll not deny he deserves it, ’ ’ murmured Miss 
Arabella Fermor. “ ’Tis said he holds all women in 
despite. But that the child should prove so 
brazen !” 

“It’s not to be doubted such amazing impertinence 
will cure certain gallants of their infatuation,” said 
Miss Belle Steward tartly, eyeing Sir Harry Ford. 

“For my part, I hold it plaguily insolent of Anthony 
Claverton to force himself upon her,” asserted Tom 
Harding, watching Sylvia’s sweet, flushed face. 

“I’ faith, only a hermit could escape her,” sniggered 
Lady Winston. “ ’Twould seem that any man is like 
to be free of her company.” 

“ ’Tis rumoured there are those in the country have 
already been made free of other joys,” said Lord Marsh 
mockingly. 

Lady Winston nodded. “In truth, her coming to 
Town was marvellous sudden.” 

“It’s not to be doubted Sir Anthony had some grave 
reason for refusing to wed her,” agreed Arabella. 

“For my part, I give no ear to gossip,” said Sybilla 
Seaton demurely. “But I cannot refuse to believe 


96 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


what I see with my own eyes. Such conduct is un- 
pardonable.’’ 

‘‘Were she a daughter of mine,” said Lady Cavendish 
majestically, “I should give her a sound whipping. 
What do you say, my Lord Wildmore?” 

Peter had listened with unmoved face to this outburst 
of gossip. Now he slowly put up his quizzing-glass and 
surveyed the couple who were the subject of discussion. 
“Faith, madam,” he stammered slowly, “ ’tis my be- 
lief if there were more o’ such amazing innocence in 
St. James’s, no man would hope to die a bachelor.” 

With which oracular remark he turned away, leaving 
the circle of ladies shaking their heads over his mean- 
ing. But the kindly little man waited to hear no more 
gossip; he hurried to the card-room in search of Lady 
Sophia, to tell her what had happed. Yet whether 
he w^as moved by a desire to save Sylvia from the ill 
consequence of her innocence or to save his friend from 
the wiles of the charmer, ’tis not for us to judge. 

Meanwhile Sylvia, all innocent of the storm of talk 
aroused by her actions, had passed with Anthony into 
one of the deep window recesses and seated herself with 
much dignity. 

“Sir Anthony,” she began coldly, “by what right 
do you constitute yourself my guardian?” 

The contrast between her haughty dignity and her 
childish person tickled Anthony’s humour. He quickly 
suppressed his inclination to smile, but not before Sylvia 
had marked the laughter in his eyes; she was much 
displeased. 

“Well, sir?” she asked sharply, tapping her little 
foot on the floor. 

“You refer, madam, to my recent conversation with 
Mr. Robert Wilton. I acted as I did to save you from — 
scandal.” 

“Scandal!” she cried indignantly. “How should 


THE LOVE OF A LADY 97 

scandal touch me?’’ But her cheeks flushed and her 
look wavered. 

^‘Alas! madam, here be many malicious tongues. 
And you have but to look in your mirror to learn the 
cause of many a woman’s envy.” 

A little smile dimpled her cheeks, but was quickly 
suppressed. ‘'Nevertheless, I see not by what right you 
interfere in my affairs. My friends are fully com- 
petent to — er — protect me.” 

“But I had hoped. Mistress Sylvia, that I had won 
the right to count myself among their number.” 

She flushed. “Because you have ceased to — ^to woo 
me ? That was generous, and for that I forgave you all 
you had done to injure me. But my friendship — that 
is not so lightly won.” 

“Egad! And mine is not so lightly proffered,” he 
retorted with sudden sternness. Then he drew a step 
nearer and looked down into her eyes. “Yet I have 
offered it, madam, in lieu of the love you will not let 
me urge.” 

She turned away. “I want neither the one nor the 
other, sir.” 

For a moment Anthony was rebuffed, a look of pain 
crept into his eyes. Then he drew himself up and his 
face hardened. “What, then, do you seek of me, 
madam?” 

“Your indifference, an’t please you,” she answered 
curtly. 

“Egad! madam, you cannot hope for indifference 
from any man,” he said quickly, and his eyes inter- 
preted his words. 

Again, for a second, the unwilling smile curved her 
lips and was suppressed. “Then give me your enmity,” 
she said shortly. 

He nodded. “So be it, I accept your choice,” he 
answered coolly. “Now, hearken. Mistress Sylvia. I 


98 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


confess freely that I sought you for your fortune at the 
bidding of Lady Sophia, but it is equally true that Mr. 
Wilton sought you for the same reason at the bidding 
of a Company of adventurers eager to profit by his 
marriage with an heiress.” 

She listened to him with a little smile in her eyes. 
‘^On what information do you base this assertion?” 
she asked quietly. 

He gave a grim smile. Madam, I also am a mem- 
ber of this Company.” 

Sylvia gave a sudden low laugh. ‘‘By Heaven! Sir 
Anthony, your invention halts like a limping beggar.” 

“Don’t you credit me, madam?” 

“I know, indeed, that Mr. Wilton is a member of a 
secret Company and has in hand many strange and 
difficult enterprises. But it seems I know more than 
you, for what you would dub ‘adventurers’ I honour 
by the name of ‘Jacobites.’ ” 

Anthony started. “The demmed scoundrel!” he 
muttered. “Do you indeed credit that tale. Mistress 
Sylvia?” 

“I find it more easy to credit than your assertion 
that so honourable a gentleman as Sir Anthony Claver- 
ton companions with a society of fortune-hunting 
rogues,” she answered demurely. 

Anthony flushed. “Yet I must urge you to credit 
what I have told you concerning Mr. Wilton.” 

“That I shall never do,” she said coldly. 

Anthony looked at her^ resolute little chin and 
shrugged his shoulders despairingly. “Then there is 
no more to be said,” he muttered. 

Sylvia rose quickly. Pardon me, Sir Anthony, but 
I have something further to say to you. Since you 
persist in interference in my affairs and seek ever to 
poison my mind against one who has — has honoured me 
by his devotion, I shall be obliged if henceforth you will 


THE LOVE OF A LADY 


99 


cease to number yourself among my acquaintances. 
Should you again force your company upon me I must 
seek someone to give you a lesson in the manners be- 
fitting a gentleman.’’ 

All this she poured forth in hurried, indignant tones, 
her eyes sparkling with rage. But to her amazement 
she suddenly found herself faced by anger equal to her 
own. Anthony’s face grew white, his eyes narrowed, 
he closed his lips sharply over an imprecation, and held 
them pressed together for a minute in rigid self-con- 
trol. Then he threw up his head with a jerk: 

’Pon my soul, madam!” he cried harshly, ‘^you 
would provoke St. Agnes herself 1 You will listen 
neither to friends nor enemies. You will credit only 
that which you wish to believe. You — a child of 
seventeen — claim to know more o’ the world than any 
of your elders. You are blinded by your own obstinacy 
and deaf to any advice save that which you choose to 
hear. I — I — by Heaven ! I were a fool to meddle 
further in your affairs. You little 1” 

He shut his lips suddenly over a muttered word, and 
turning abruptly on his heel, marched quickly through 
the thronged salon down into the empty hall, where he 
strode savagely to and fro seeking to cool his temper 
and regain his self-control. 

Sylvia stared after him in open-mouthed amazement. 

‘‘The unmannerly wretch,” she muttered angrily. 
“How — how dare he speak to me so? But now at 
least I am quit of his company for ever. I — I am vastly 
glad on’t. The insolent wretch.” 

She walked through the rooms in search of Lady 
Sophia with head held more haughtily erect than ever, 
and air defiant of the whispering tongues. 

As she drove homewards she listened submissively to 
a stern lecture from her godmother upon the enormity 
of her conduct in defying the conventions and request- 


100 THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 

ing Anthony Claverton to talk with her alone. Meekly 
she promised amendment. But when she finally escaped 
to the privacy of her own room, she buried her face in 
her pillows and wept bitter tears. Certain stained and 
crumpled notes hidden in her bosom failed for once to 
give her comfort; she saw only Anthony’s white, set 
face, the anger and contempt in his eyes; deep in her 
heart she mourned a severed friendship, and life 
seemed on a sudden grown strangely stale and piteously 
lonely. 


CHAPTER XI 


A masquer’s frolic 

“And sometimes in the twilight gloom apart 
The tall trees whisper heart to heart, 

From my fond lips the eager answers fall. 

Thinking I hear thee call.” 

D uring the week that followed, Peter Wildmore 
found his guest anything but a soothing compan- 
ion. There were times, indeed, when Anthony’s irre- 
pressibly hopeful nature reasserted itself, and his nat- 
ural gaiety of spirits bubbled up in jest and laughter; 
there were a couple of bachelor evenings worthy of lust- 
iest tradition ; but for the most part he showed himself 
restless, moody, and subject to unexpected bursts of 
temper at trifling causes. 

Peter was a patient soul and accustomed to vagaries 
in his friends, especially when a woman had entered the 
peaceful arena of their lives. He bore all these change- 
ful moods with placid indifference, but in his heart he 
fretted over his companion’s obvious unhappiness and 
shook his head sadly over the ravages of Dan Cupid. 

Meanwhile, preparations for the mission to France 
were not neglected by Anthony. He spent his morn- 
ings practising diligently at Martini’s fencing-rooms, 
his afternoons in the drawing-rooms of Lady d’Arcy or 
Mile de Quincanal, exercisijag his French and his gal- 
lantry. He frequented the society of Mr. Steward or 
the Duchess of Queensberry, the accepted authorities 
upon the latest gossip of Versailles. He dined one of 
Harley’s couriers and learned from him much concern- 
ing the routes to Paris and the topography of the city. 
Clear plan of action he had none, though he lay awake 
101 


102 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


many hours each night trying to devise what ’twere 
best to do; all must depend upon the turn of events 
when he reached the French capital. 

As the day of his departure approached he was con- 
scious of a feeling of eager anticipation, a revival of in- 
terest and excitement which he had thought for ever- 
more banished from life. For, though a woman losing 
her love loses her all, to a man there remains yet his 
work; the hazarding of life and limb in the pursuit of 
glory, the quick clash of wits in the strife of the world, 
the gay ventures of the open road. And although there 
were hours when these seemed to weigh but lightly in 
the scale compared with the loss .of the love he had so 
deeply cherished, his blood quickened in his veins, his 
eyes twinkled with joyous anticipation when he thought 
on the amazing venture that lay at his hand. 

Of Sylvia, during the week, he saw and heard noth- 
ing. With grim resolution he avoided every place 
where an encounter seemed probable, and Peter — that 
hardy bachelor — was no man wantonly to introduce 
into conversation the subject of alluring woman. An- 
thony told himself sternly that she had passed out of 
his life for ever, that the love which had come to him 
so unexpectedly that sweet April morning at Birdlip 
was doomed to die barren in his heart. He believed, in 
good faith, that to forget her was all his desire, yet the 
memory of her haunted him night and day. Her beau- 
tiful face was ever before him, her little graceful move- 
ments, little characteristic tricks of speech crossed his 
thoughts a thousand times a day, making his heart ache 
to see her again; so bewitched was his imagination that 
more than once he started from his chair, thinking he 
heard her voice in the room behind him. What it was 
that held him to her he knew not. Beauty in woman 
was never wont to stir him overmuch, nobility of soul 
he vowed she did not possess; only she had drawn his 


A MASQUER’S FROLIC 103 

heart into her little white hands by that ma^c lure 
which baffles all analysis and which it is given to every 
man to experience once in his life. 

Is it, then, a matter of marvel if the evening before 
his departure saw Anthony wending his way stealthily 
towards Chelsea, intent upon seeing once more the face 
that held his heart ? As he hurried westward, he cursed 
his weakness and mocked at the folly that could lead a 
man to stand, it might be hour-long, in the darkness, 
for the chance sight of a face at the window, or a figure 
alighting from a coach. He pictured, with a rueful 
smile, the shocked consternation of Peter, could he 
know upon what errand his friend was bent. 

When he reached Lady Sophia's house, he saw it was 
all ablaze with lights; clearly her ladyship was enter- 
taining a noted company. Anthony crossed the road 
and sat on a stone bench by the river in the shadow of 
the trees that lined its banks. He watched the house 
intently; but though shadows constantly flitted past the 
lighted windows and from time to time a couple emerged 
on to the balconies, he saw no sign of Sylvia. A num- 
ber of coaches waited in the street and link-boys crowded 
in the doorway, for the hour was late and the guests 
were beginning to depart; idly he watched the crowd- 
ing, shouting group of lads waving their smoking 
torches, often in close proximity to the faces of their 
fellows, and eagerly clamouring to be engaged. Sud- 
denly he started and leaned forward on his seat in the 
shadows. A man, walking rapidly down the street, 
touched one of the link-boys on the shoulder and 
beckoned to him to follow. Nothing in this was note- 
worthy, but the look of sheer terror on the face of the 
lad when he turned and saw who had accosted him 
startled Anthony into sudden interest. He watched the 
couple closely as they passed down the street. Some- 
thing in the man's figure, in his excessive height, in the 


104 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


lithe grace of his movements was strangely familiar. 
His hat was pulled well about his brows, but the glare 
of the torch shone on his fair hair hanging loosely about 
his face. 

‘‘ ’Tis that demmed Captain Lefroy,” he muttered. 
^^What devil’s mischief is toward now?” 

Gradually the crowd about the house melted away, 
the street grew silent and deserted. Many of the lights 
in the house were extinguished, and the door was 
closed. 

Presently, however, a window on the ground floor 
was opened by a servant, who peered out cautiously into 
the darkness of the street. Nothing was stirring; she 
drew back her head and disappeared within, leaving 
the window still open. The breeze blew the curtains 
in and out. 

Then a strange thing befell. Round the corner of the 
house, walking rapidly and peering stealthily from side 
to side, came the link-boy who had followed Michael 
Lefroy. The light of his torch revealed his face, 
stricken with fear. When he reached the open window 
he paused, once more glanced fearfully behind him, and 
then deliberately thrust his flaring link against the folds 
of the curtain. It was clear enough that his object was 
to fire the curtain, but either his nervousness made his 
hand uncertain, or the wind at the moment blew the 
curtain out of reach; he did not succeed, and ere he 
could make a second attempt Anthony had leapt across 
the intervening space and, snatching the torch from his 
hand, sent it whirling away into the river. Then he 
gripped the shoulder of the offender and proceeded to 
cuff him soundly. 

‘‘You rascal! What! fire the house, would you? 
This will mean the Plantations for you, you rogue!” 

The lad struggled and whimpered. “ ’A made me do 
it,” he muttered. 


A MASQUER’S FROLIC 106 

‘^What! Who was it sent you to this rascality, eh? 
Answer. ’ ’ 

But again the look of terror crossed the youth’s face. 
‘‘I don’t know,” he sobbed. 

A window above opened and a head was thrust out. 
Anthony had no mind as yet to acquaint the entire 
household with the incident. He dragged the lad across 
the road towards the shadow of the trees. 

‘‘Now, you young scoundrel, tell me ” 

He stopped suddenly. On the bench which he had 
just quitted sat Michael Lefroy, smoking placidly. 
He nodded to Anthony in friendly wise. 

“Well done, Claverton,” he said coolly. “I couldn’t 
have been quicker on him myself. You’ve clean out- 
witted us.” 

Anthony glared at him. “Then ’twas you who set 
him on?” 

Lefroy nodded. ‘ ‘ That being so, suppose you let him 
go in peace and turn your attentions to me.” 

Recognising the injustice of venting all his rage upon 
the tool, Anthony reluctantly released his hold of the 
youth. Lefroy said a few words to him in a thieves’ 
patois, which Anthony could not comprehend. With 
a look of relief, the lad turned and scuttled off into the 
darkness. 

Lefroy turned to Anthony. “Sit down, Claverton. 
I’ve ample time for conversation, you have put an end 
to the affair for the nonce. ’ ’ 

For a moment Anthony stood silent, struggling to 
regain his self-control in face of Lefroy ’s smiling 
affability. When he had his temper in hand he leant 
against the tree opposite Lefroy and asked curtly : 
“Perchance you will explain why it should be your 
wish to set fire to a house occupied by a defenceless old 
lady?” 

“And a very beautiful young one,” interposed 


106 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


Lefroy, smiling. Faith, ’twas a frolic. No more.” 

‘‘A frolic! To burn the house about their heads!” 
gasped Anthony. 

‘'Shoicks! You go too fast, Claverton. I had ample 
means prepared to put out the flames. I desired no 
more than a small amount of smoke and a vast amount 
of confusion. Believe me, nothing would have been 
injured save half a dozen hangings.” 

“And your object?” snapped Anthony sharply. 
“Theft?” 

Lefroy laughed. “Our methods are scarce so clumsy. 
No, you are slow to take me, Claverton. A Are in a 
house is an amazing convenient occasion for one from 
without to gain speech with a lady from whose com- 
pany he is rigidly excluded. Moreover, should he he 
injured in rescuing her from the flames, it’s not to he 
doubted a grateful household would give him shelter.” 

“ Ton my soul!” gasped Anthony. “You amazing 
scoundrels ! ’ ’ 

Lefroy waved his hand lightly. “A very simple 
affair, as I assured you. A mere frolic.” 

Anthony looked round. “Where is Wilton?” he 
asked sharply. 

“Doubtless, he is waiting to enter the house by the 
service-door when news of the Are draws the household 
to the front.” 

Without a word Anthony turned to stride off in 
search of his rival. Lefroy shot out his hand and 
grasped his arm in a grip of iron. 

“No, Claverton, you do not meet him to-night. Have 
you forgot your mission?” 

“Devil take your mission!” cried Anthony savagely. 
“This affair will not wait.” 

“It will wait so long as I choose,” answered Lefroy 
grimly. “Do you dream, Claverton, you will be per- 
mitted to play fast and loose with our orders — to break 


107 


MASQUER’S FROLIC 

your oath at will? By Heaven! if you cross my will 
to-night, you shall die like a dog before morning.” 

''To hell with you and your Company!” cried An- 
thony, beside himself with rage at Lefroy’s threatening 
tone. "If you must dictate to me in this affair, let it 
be at the sword-point.” 

Lefroy rose with alacrity, a smile of amusement in 
his eyes. "With all my heart. The moon is rising and 
the meadow across the river a most convenient spot. ’ ’ 

Anthony hesitated, loth to quit the place and lose all 
chance of an encounter with Wilton. Lefroy gave a low, 
mocking laugh. "Your pardon. Sir Anthony. I see 
you are not prepared to fight.” 

Anger overmastered his judgment. He nodded curtly. 
"I am with you. Lead on.” 

Lefroy walked briskly down the river-bank for a hun- 
dred yards and whistled softly. A boat shot out from 
the opposite bank and crossed to take them on board. 
Lefroy said a few words to the two men in the boat and 
they proceeded to row up-stream for the space of a 
quarter of an hour. Then all four landed in a wide 
meadow running down to the water’s edge. 

Lefroy looked round at Anthony. "Are you content, 
Claverton? The ground is good. The light, I grant 
you, is shifty, the moon being a plaguy fickle jade to 
fight by, but ’tis the same for all.” 

The other nodded agreement and took off his coat. 
Lefroy, on the contrary, proceeded to button his closely, 
and Anthony saw the wisdom of this too late ; his white 
shirt made him more easy to distinguish in the half-light. 

Lefroy turned to one of his companions. "Jim, you’ll 
watch Sir Anthony’s interests in this affair. The mat- 
ter has been somewhat hastily concluded and he has no 
second at hand. Now, sir, if you are prepared ?” 

The blades crossed. Anthony was a fair swordsman, 
his steady practice during the past week had strength- 


108 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


ened his wrist and quickened his eye. But directly he 
felt his opponent’s steel he understood wherein lay the 
secret of the power wielded by this strange man. He 
had no equal with the sword. The encounter was of 
short duration. In five minutes Anthony’s sword fiew 
from his fingers and he stood defenceless, facing Lefroy. 

The latter played his sword for a minute over his op- 
ponent’s heart, then he lowered his point. ‘‘You see, 
Claverton,” he said, as though in polite explanation of 
his victory, “we live by the sword.” 

He turned and picked up Anthony’s sword. “I shall 
not kill you, ’ ’ he said coolly. “ I ’ve work for you to do. 
But you’ll understand I hold you to your oath, and if 
you cross my will again — you die.” 

For a minute Anthony was conscious of a strong desire 
to fiing himself bodily on Lefroy and let death end his 
humiliation. But he forbore. For he held it but a 
coward ’s part to seek the easiest way ; Honour might be 
lost, indeed, but Courage he would not part with till the 
end. In silence he took back his sword and sheathed it. 

Then Michael Lefroy signed to his two companions to 
withdraw a little space. And he crossed over to An- 
thony and laid his hand on his shoulder. 

“Claverton,” he said willingly, “life has gone hard 
with you ; but you ’ve proved you know w^ell how to face 
ill fortune, and you’re a man after my own heart. What 
then! There’s more in the world than a woman’s fa- 
vour. You’ve the Road before you.” 

Anthony shook his head. His face was white and 
weary. “If she should come to harm!” he muttered. 

“No harm shall touch her,” said Lefroy quietly. 
“Wilton must be free to woo her, and if she choose him, 
to wed her. But I go surety she shall not be carried off 
against her will.” 

“Why do you give that scoundrel your countenance?” 
asked Anthony surlily. 


A MASQUER’S FROLIC 109 

Lefroy laughed suddenly. ‘‘For no other reason save 
that he wields so pretty a blade. ’Tis a pleasure to cross 
swords with him.’’ 

“Then why the plague did you not let me meet him?” 
cried Anthony angrily. 

“Because I did not choose that you should meet your 
death at his hands,” answered the other coolly. 

Anthony flushed angrily, but Lefroy laughed. 
“You’ve a steady wrist and a knowledgeable eye, but 
when you cross swords with Robert Wilton, my friend, 
you’ll need a cooler head than was yours this evening. 
For the rest, you take too hard what hath chanced to- 
night. What, man! you’ll never bear me a grudge for 
the gift o’ your life?” 

He held out his hand persuasively. Anthony hesi- 
tated. But there was that in the personality of this 
Michael Lefroy, rogue, vagabond, adventurer — ^what 
you will — that won for him the friendship of many an 
honest man. They clasped hands in silence. 

Meanwhile the other men had unmoored the boat. 
They all embarked quietly and crossed the river. As 
they reached the bank Lefroy put his hand on Anthony’s 
arm. 

“We leave you here to finish your vigil in peace. 
Don’t fail to be at the ‘Golden Dolphin’ by noon to- 
morrow. And, hark’ee, Claverton! look to’t you keep 
a better guard on your temper; you’ll have need of all 
your wits to win you through.” 

Anthony jumped ashore and stood watching the boat 
until it slid away into the shadows. Then he turned and 
walked slowly back towards Lady Sophia ’s house. 

Suddenly he started, and his heart gave a wild leap of 
jealousy, for, standing in the moonlight before the house, 
gazing rapturously up towards a lighted window on the 
second story stood a man, his hands raised and clasped 
in an absurd attitude of devotion. Supposing it to be 


110 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


Wilton, Anthony took a rapid step forward and then 
came to a sudden pause, for he saw the worshipper was 
none other than that irrepressible lover, Harry Ford. 
He drew back to watch him. 

Harry stretched out his arms to the lighted window 
and drew them to his heart; he sighed profoundly; he 
pressed his hands to his head, symbolic of despair. 
From his breast he drew forth a crumpled rose which 
he crushed to his lips ; then, kneeling humbly, he pressed 
a kiss upon the doorstep and, with one last languishing 
glance at the window, walked dejectedly away. Yet 
Anthony noted that when he reached the corner he threw 
back his head with an air of satisfaction and broke into 
a jaunty walk, humming, “Oh! Fickle Fair.” 

But when he had vanished, the window above was 
quietly opened and a fair, laughing face, shrined in a 
mass of curls, peered cautiously out. A low ripple of 
delicious laughter broke the silence. Then the window 
was closed, the light extinguished, and silence fell. 

So ended Anthony ’s vigil. He left Sylvia surrounded 
by suitors, threatened by dangers, unarmed and inno- 
cent. But he carried with him the memory of her fear- 
less smile and the sound of her haunting laughter. 


CHAPTER XII 


A VISION OF TRAGEDY 

“Ride, boldly ride, 

The Shade replied. 

If you’d win to Eldorado.” 

T he following morning Peter Wildmore, sleeping 
peacefully after a merry night, was roused sud- 
denly from his slumbers by the unexpected entrance of 
his guest, who sat on his feet and shook him unceremon- 
iously into wakefulness. 

^‘Look you, Peter, I want to take leave of you. I^m 
setting out for Prance: a private mission.^’ 

Peter fumbled for his quizzing-glass, stared at An- 
thony for a moment in amazement, then rolled over 
sleepily on his pillow. 

‘‘Well, luck go with you,’’ he murmured resignedly. 
Anthony eyed him a moment with unwonted hesita- 
tion, then he stammered forth his request. 

“Er — ^Peter — until I return will — er — will you keep 
— er — guard over Miss Defraine?” 

Then indeed Peter awoke and sat upright abruptly. 
“What!” he shouted. 

“She’s so demmed young and — er — headstrong,” ex- 
plained Anthony hurriedly, ‘ ‘ and there are a plaguy set 
o’ ne’er-do-weels threatening her peace. Keep ’em off 
for me, Peter, until I’m home again.” 

“But — but — how, in Heaven’s name, should I?” cried 
Peter in desperation. 

“Oh, you will find occasion,” said Anthony airily. 
“Be at hand to — ^to teach ’em manners, and — er — keep 
the D’Arcy’s tongue off her. She — she’s so demmed in- 
nocent.” 


Ill 


112 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


There ~ was a little break in his voice as he spoke the 
last words. Peter eyed him doubtfully. 

‘‘Why, plague take you, Tony! Lady Sophia is a 
very dragon o’ propriety. Surely the girl is safe with 
her.” 

“Not if Aunt Sophia is within half a mile of a card- 
table,” retorted Anthony shrewdly. “Keep an eye on 
her, Peter.” 

“But — good heavens! Would you have me dance at- 
tendance at every rout, ball and water-party like a dis- 
appointed spinster of thirty?” 

“ ’Twill be but for six weeks.” 

Peter groaned. 

‘ ‘ The devil ’s in it but some woman will wed me or ever 
the time is out.” 

“You’ll do it, Peter?” urged the other eagerly. “I’ll 
be so monstrous obleeged to you. ’ ’ 

Peter, in his mind ’s eye, saw himself transformed into 
a Society gallant, haunting the company of the most 
alluring of women, a prey to all the machinations of 
Cupid. He sighed aloud. 

“There’s a lack o’ reason in your demands, Tony,” 
he grumbled. “A friend — demmit ! — a friend should re- 
member a friend’s infirmities. Was I born to play guar- 
dian to a headstrong girl?” 

“I’d trust no man else, ’ ’ said Anthony softly. 

Peter blinked. 

“You blarneying vagabond!” he cried affectionately. 
“Look to it you are back ere six weeks be out, for not 
a day longer will I dance to your rascally piping, Tony. ’ ’ 

Anthony rose with a look of relief. 

“It’s time I was away. If luck holds and you escape 
the ring, we’ll meet in six weeks.” He strode towards 
the door. 

“But — heavens! Tony — you’re not leaving me yet. 
I — I — plague on’t, you’re not in earnest! You don’t 


A VISION OF TRAGEDY 113 

seriously ask me to play the guardian to a plaguily 
bewitching girl without giving me some notion o^ pro- 
ceeding. Tony ’’ 

But Anthony turned a deaf ear to his friend’s despair- 
ing cry. With a laugh and an airy wave of his hand he 
vanished through the door, leaving Peter a picture of 
consternation, the tassel of his nightcap shaking dis- 
mally above his harrowed face. 

An hour later Anthony presented himself at the 
‘‘Golden Dolphin,” a small, inconspicuous little tavern, 
approached by an alley out of Fleet Street. He found 
Tom Eccles already awaiting him. They passed into 
a small inner room and Anthony received his instruc- 
tions. They were very brief: 

“Ride down to Cuckmere; it lies on the coast, eight 
miles beyond Lewes. Sam Pettitt of the ‘Blue Swan’ 
will see to it you are shipped to Prance. Once there you 
must look to yourself. Here is money for posting to 
Paris and back to the coast. You’ll live by your wits. 
These are your credentials for the men who will ship 
you. You understand, if these be found on you this side 
the water, you’ll be hanged as a Jacobite spy. Set out 
without delay and reach Cuckmere to-night.” 

Anthony took the slender store of gold and the letter 
signed by Michael Lefroy and hid them on his person. 
Now that he stood ready to set out, the enormity of the 
task he had undertaken somewhat overwhelmed him. 
He looked doubtfully at Eccles. 

“That, I take it, is the sum of your instructions. 
Now for your advice. I’d be grateful for a morsel.” 

Eccles grinned. “Stap me! I’ve little to give you. 
Keep your tongue still and your eyes wide and be ready 
to catch at any chance o’ fortune. Leave a road always 
open for retreat. And — er — beware of women.” 

Anthony laughed. “Women! Why, what have they 
to do in this affair?” 


114 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


^'Did you ever know an affair in which they did not 
meddle?’’ asked Eceles scornfully. ‘‘And by all tokens 
there are plenty at hand wherever French Louis is 
found. Mind you, I don’t say they won’t be plaguy 
useful to you, but beware of letting any women come 
betwixt you and your goal. Lefroy himself bade me 
warn you of ” 

“I know,” interrupted Anthony, laughing, “giving 
rein to my hot head.” 

“No,” said Eceles drily, “your soft heart.” 

The sun shone brightly as Anthony rode out of Lon- 
don, and the joyous spirit of adventure thrilled his blood. 
For the Great Road lay before him, and though it was 
beset with difficulties and dangers and Death himself 
stalked grimly at hand, yet all shadows lie behind us 
when the sun shines on our path. His heart beat high 
with hope, and he sang little snatches of melody as he 
rode. For although he was a lover, he had never yet 
learned to live a slave to hopelessness, and when the 
sun shines on the road before him and hazards lie ahead, 
even a lover may laugh at despair. 

Once out of London he rode hard for the South, but 
darkness was falling when he stopped at Lewes for a 
mouthful of food, and the moon was high in the heaven 
when he crossed Cradle Valley Downs and came in sight 
of the sea beyond Cuckmere. He drew rein on the cliff 
above the village to admire the beauty of the silver light 
across the rippling waters. 

To his right lay a low stone house, backed by a 
huddle of farm buildings and enclosed towards the sea 
by a wild garden sloping down in rough terraces towards 
Cuckmere. As he drew rein he was aware of a woman’s 
voice, singing to the spinet, and something familiar in 
its tone made him pause and listen to the words of her 
song. Thus it ran; 


A VISION OF tragedy; 115 

Song. 

This life, which seems so fair, 

Is like a bubble blown up in the air 
By sporting children’s breath, 

Who chase it everywhere 

And strive who can most motion it bequeath. 

And tho’ it sometimes seem of its own might 
Like to an eye of gold to be fixed there. 

And firm to hover in that empty height. 

That only is because it is so light. 

But in that pomp it doth not long appear; 

For when ’tis most admired, in a thought. 

Because it erst was nought, it turns to nought. 

The singer’s voice was low and sweet, and touched 
with a haunting sadness. Heard thus, in the wide si- 
lences of the Downs, with the moon weaving enchant- 
ment over the moving waters, it seemed to Anthony to 
voice all the unfulfilled desire of the heart of Man, all 
his impotent striving to break the fetters of his prison- 
house. He wondered vaguely who might be the singer, 
and pitied her from his heart. 

The music ceased, and suddenly the door of the house 
was pushed wide and a woman stepped out into the 
moonlight. Face and figure were clearly revealed, and 
with a start Anthony recognised Louise Carew. For a 
minute she stood there motionless, gazing out with wide 
dark eyes across the restless sea ; then a querulous voice 
within called her name. She bowed her head with a 
little gesture of resignation and passed swiftly into the 
house, closing the door behind her. 

But Anthony sat transfixed, as though he had beheld 
a miraculous vision. And, indeed, her appearance there 
in the lonely spaces of the Downs, even as he was setting 
forth on the venture that should free both his and her 
honour, seemed to him almost miraculous. She had 
spoken to him, indeed, of her aunt in Sussex, from whom 


116 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


she must beg shelter, but ever since Sylvia had crossed 
his path and filled his heart, he had given but little 
thought to the fate of the woman whose life and honour 
he had saved. Now the thought of her came to him with 
a sudden shock of pity, with a poignancy of understand- 
ing. He remembered the haunting sadness of her music, 
he thought of the life she must lead in that loneliness, a 
slave night and day to the demands of that querulous 
voice. He contrasted the fierce yearning revealed in her 
song with that grave, steady look over the sea, and he 
understood a little what rigid self-control must be ex- 
ercised day by day in taming her stormy passions to a 
life of submission and dependency. 

As he sat there on horseback in the moonlight outside 
her prison-house, Anthony bared his head for a minute 
or two in silence. Then he rode onward slowly into 
Cuckmere, leaving a courageous woman to her expiation. 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE COUNTERFEIT TRAITOR 

'‘Do you bite your thumb at me, sir?” 

“I do bite my thumb, sir.” 

S AM PETTITT of the ‘^Blue Swan’’ was a round, 
rubicund man, with twinkling eyes and a ready 
laugh for even the most modest attempt at a jest. He 
had a good word for all his neighbours, and a blind eye 
for their weaknesses, and had even been heard on occa- 
sion to credit an exciseman with virtues. So ready was he 
to impart to his guests all the gossip of the country-side, 
so glib with his tongue, so free with his welcome, so trans- 
parently honest and foolish, that none dreamed of credit- 
ing his house with being the headquarters of all the 
smugglers, Jacobite intriguers, rogues and vagabonds of 
the country round, and himself one of the most notorious 
defiers of Her Majesty’s laws of Custom and Excise. 

Nevertheless, many a dark evening when the Govern- 
ment frigate was round beyond Brighton, and the ex- 
cisemen perchance away on a wild-goose chase far to the 
west, a blue fiare would burn on the beach below the 
‘‘Blue Swan,” and from the dim light in the offing, 
boats with their cargo of bales and casks creep silently 
to shore. Sam Pettitt himself would direct the unlad- 
ing and marshal the silent procession of burdened men 
up through the darkness. When all was safely stowed 
in cellar or attic, or lowered into the well behind the 
wide chimney-stack, Sam would brew hospitable bowls 
of sack for his company, and entertain them with many 
a good tale and merry anecdote behind the close-shut- 
117 


!118 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


tered windows of the demure ^^Blue Swan.” And if the 
Squire grew restive or the Sheriff showed inclination to 
ride seawards o’ nights, a keg of French brandy proved 
a wonderful soporific for disturbed consciences. 

Pettitt extended to Anthony his usual garrulous wel- 
come, and chatted glibly of the comings and goings of 
his guests as he served him. When Anthony expressed 
his wish to cross over to France Pettitt displayed an 
eagerness to aid him in the matter, and an ignorance of 
ways and means to do so that was little short of marvel- 
lous. But on production of the credentials signed by 
Lefroy his whole manner changed, losing alike its servil- 
ity and its helplessness. 

‘‘Jan Arden puts to sea to-night when the moon is 
down. He is shipping a gentleman o’ your persuasion 
across the water. His boat lies quarter of a mile down 
the coast. Come your ways now and we shall be in the 
nick o’ time to catch him.” 

Without further words they set out, the stout land- 
lord making a good pace through the marshy land that 
bordered the river. The moon was already low, and 
when they drew near the fisherman’s cottage, lying a 
little way beyond the village, they could dimly distinguish 
figures down on the beach already busied with prepara- 
tions for departure. Pettitt gave a low whistle, and im- 
mediately one of the figures detached himself from the 
group and came hurr^dng towards them. 

“Here’s a gentleman wants to cross the water in 
a hurry, Jan. Can you take him?” asked Pettitt 
brusquely. 

The other muttered something inarticulate, but from 
his manner did not appear to welcome the suggestion. 
Pettitt drew him aside and talked to him for a few 
minutes apart, then he returned to Anthony. 

“ I ’ve settled your affair. He will put you across for 
two guineas. He would take ye for nothing, but the 


THE COUNTERFEIT TRAITOR 119 

gentleman with him has no love o’ company. He fears 
there may be trouble betwixt ye.” 

Suppressing a laugh at the prospect before him, An- 
thony agreed to the bargain, and taking a grateful leave 
of Pettitt went down the beach with the fisherman. Two 
more men were busy over a boat drawn down to the 
water’s edge, while a third stood a little apart, watch- 
ing their preparations. The latter was a tall, cadaver- 
ous-looking individual, with fretful anxious eyes. He 
turned and scowled at Anthony as he approached. 

''What’s here? Who is this?” he asked rudely. 

"A gentleman o’ your persuasion, who is for crossing 
wi’ us to-night,” urged Jan nervously. 

"I trust, sir, my company will in no way inconveni- 
ence you,” said Anthony politely. 

The man turned his back on him rudely. "I do not 
desire your company,” he said curtly. 

"Nor I yours,” answered Anthony promptly. "But 
needs must, since no better offers.” 

The stranger turned on him abruptly. "Do you de- 
sire to insult me, sir?” he cried angrily. 

"Not I. My sole desire is to get aboard before you at- 
tract the whole village by your shouting, ’ ’ answered An- 
thony imperturbably, and striding past the irate man, 
he took his seat in the boat that was ready to be 
launched. 

The stranger hesitated for a moment, then seeing the 
others prepared to push off, he ran after them and clam- 
bered into the boat. They put off at once to sea, and 
presently drew alongside the barque which was to take 
them across to France. In a very few minutes they were 
aboard and the sails set. 

Anthony was leaning over the side, watching the few 
lights of the village twinkling ever further in their 
wake, when a tap on the shoulder roused him. He turned 
to find the stranger at his elbow. 


120 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


‘‘Sir, my name is Thomas Kirkpatrick, and I find you 
amazing insolent,’’ he began, as though not a minute 
had intervened since their former exchange of remarks. 
“Were I not engaged on a most important mission for 
His Majesty I should undoubtedly call you to account.” 

“And were I not likewise engaged upon a most im- 
portant mission, I should undoubtedly teach you better 
manners,” retorted Anthony curtly, growing somewhat 
w^earied of the man’s aggressive airs. 

Kirkpatrick glared at him jealously. 

“What is the purport of your boasted mission?” he 
asked curiously. 

“A matter which does not concern you,” answered 
Anthony curtly. 

But jealous curiosity was writ large on the other’s 
countenance. He drew nearer and eyed Anthony ques- 
tioningly. 

“I do not conceive it can be of grave import,” he said 
sneeringly. 

Anthony made no reply. Kirkpatrick' moved impa- 
tiently. 

“I do not conceive your mission is connected with af- 
fairs of State,” he repeated anxiously. 

This jealousy tickled Anthony’s humour. He had 
heard much of the bitter rivalry among the exiled fol- 
lowers of the Stuarts. 

He shook his head with an air of resolute silence. 

The other drew himself up proudly. 

“I am the bearer of letters of import to His Majesty 
himself,” he said, eagerly watching the effect of his an- 
nouncement upon Anthony. 

The latter bowed. “His Majesty receives many ‘let- 
ters of import’ from disaffected persons in England, but 
few are trusted to bear the communication ’twixt St. 
Germains and the Secretary of State,” he said grandilo- 
quently. 


THE COUNTERFEIT TRAITOR 


U1 


Kirkpatrick started. 

‘‘From St. John! But it is impossible that you 
also . What is your name?’’ 

Anthony hesitated. But this game of jealousy-bait- 
ing amused him, he resolved to continue the farce. Re- 
membering Sylvia’s statement that her lover was a Jaco- 
bite emissary, he decided to adopt for the nonce his 
name, and by so doing learn if indeed Wilton was known 
at St. Germains. 

“My name,” he repeated coolly, “cannot greatly con- 
cern you. But — ^will the name o’ Robert Wilton satisfy 
your doubts?” 

To his amazement the other started back with a loud 
oath and put his hand to the hilt of his sword. 

“So!” he cried. “You are the scoundrel that sold 
Guiscard to the Lord Treasurer — that wormed your way 
into the friendship of Maclean and betrayed him to 
the Government. You damned traitor! You to pass 
yourself as an emissary of St. J ohn ! Do you dream we 
do not know you? What devil’s mischief are you up to 
now? By Heaven! you shall go no further!” 

He half drew his sword from the scabbard and then 
stopped suddenly. Anthony watched him closely. His 
face was a conflict of emotions; rage, fear, prudence, 
fought for the mastery. But prudence prevailed. It 
was not for nothing that Robert Wilton had won his 
reputation for swordsmanship. 

Reluctantly the Jacobite sheathed his blade. 

“Go your way,” he said curtly, “you can work no 
further harm. Set foot in St. Germains if you dare! 
Your life will not be worth an hour’s purchase. Pah!” 

He spat deliberately at Anthony and turning on his 
heel strode to the far side of the vessel and sat down be- 
side Jan Arden. 

It must be confessed that Anthony was considerably 
relieved. He had no mind to start his venture by a flght 




THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


for life on another man’s quarrel. With commendable 
prudence he sat down unobtrusively in a remote corner 
and kept a wary eye on the doings of the irate Jacobite. 
But, the danger past, he rejoiced over what he had 
learned concerning the doings of his rival. Here indeed 
was matter which — could he but bring the truth of it 
home to Sylvia — must assuredly shake her faith in the 
nobility of the man who had won her heart. 

The wind was fair, they made a quick voyage and 
landed at sunrise a mile down the coast from St. Valery. 
The Jacobite wasted no time in farewells, but leapt in- 
stantly ashore and strode off inland. It was evident he 
knew the neighbourhood well. He evinced no desire 
for further speech with Anthony; clearly he had no 
intention of wreaking vengeance single-handed upon the 
traitor. 

Anthony speedily discovered that the fishermen had 
been informed of his supposed name and character. 
Their manner was short and surly. Nevertheless, he 
could see they feared him. They set him on his way to 
St. Valery at his request and appeared glad to be rid 
of his company. 

Anthony trudged on towards the town in search of 
an inn where he could obtain breakfast and horses to 
post him on his road to Paris. The path led inland from 
the coast through a rough country of low sandhills. He 
had gone about a quarter of a mile when he came across 
a groom leading a saddle-horse, and looking from side 
to side as though in search of someone. At sight of 
Anthony he drew rein and sprang to the ground, pulling 
his forelock. 

Anthony looked at the horse and laughed suddenly. 
It was so clearly intended for his fellow-traveller, and 
the encounter was so opportune. He was a magistrate 
in his own county, a stern suppressor of all thieves and 
vagabonds ; he looked back with a feeling of mild amuse- 


THE COUNTERFEIT TRAITOR 


123 


ment to his homilies on the subject as he put his foot in 
the stirrup and vaulted to the saddle. There was at 
least humour, he reflected, in the life of a vagabond. He 
dropped a gold piece in the groom's hand and rode for- 
ward. 

He had not ridden many yards when suddenly Kirk- 
patrick himself appeared on the top of a sand-hill to the 
left, shading his eyes with his hand and scanning the 
neighbourhood for sight of his missing groom. The low 
sun was behind Anthony and for a moment the Jacobite 
did not recognise him. But Anthony was no man to 
lose the cream of a jest. He waved his hand gaily and 
called out a taunting farewell. 

The other took in the situation in an instant ; he drew 
his pistol and flred full at the horse-thief. Anthony 
ducked, spurring his horse, the ball passed over him, 
and before Kirkpatrick could fire again he was out of 
range. 

But the event sobered him. He remembered on a sud- 
den that this was no schoolboy's adventure on which he 
was embarked, but a matter of life and death. Unheed- 
ing, he had drawn on himself the hatred of the Jacobites, 
and left enemies in the path of his retreat. He cursed 
his folly as he galloped south, and formed as many reso- 
lutions of prudence as there were miles betwixt him and 
his goal. 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE LACKEY OF THE PRINCESSE d’hARCOURT 

“For hence will I disguised, and hire myself 
To serve with scullions and with kitchen knaves.” 


A nthony reached Paris without further misadven- 
ture. He travelled by the less direct route through 
Ecouis and Kouen and frequented the smaller inns in 
the towns at which he halted. He was much impressed 
by the wretched appearance of the country districts, and 
the miserable poverty of the peasants. He judged 
shrewdly that money would prove the key to overcome 
all difficulties, and husbanded his resources for his re- 
turn, that he might have the wherewithal to smooth the 
path of his retreat. He made many friends along the 
road, his good looks and his natural courtesy won the 
hearts of the women, and he found that a timely jest 
worked wonders to hasten the lagging feet of the ostlers. 
So he came to Paris and took up his abode at a moderate 
inn hard by the Church of the Madeleine. 

Now, having accomplished thus much of his journey, 
a sudden hopelessness overwhelmed him. The immediate 
need for action had ceased, and when he turned to his 
wits for enlightenment as to his next proceeding, he could 
devise no answer. 

The King was at Versailles: so much news he had 
gathered the evening of his arrival from the wife of his 
host, a garrulous, black-eyed, vivacious little woman, with 
a passion for gossip. She retailed to him innumerable 
stories of the gay doings of the Court, the masquerades, 

124 


LACKEY OF PRINCESSE D’HARCOURT U5 


water-picnics, fetes and games, together with much choice 
scandal she had culled from her friends among the 
lackeys and scullions. To all this Anthony lent a ready 
ear, knowing that no knowledge was too trivial to prove 
useful on such a quest as his. But at the end he found 
himself no nearer to a solution of his difficulties. The 
King was at Versailles, surrounded by guards, courtiers 
and lackeys, and he remained an unknown Englishman 
in a tavern in the Rue Royale. By what possible means 
could he hope to enter that magic circle admitted to the 
presence of the Roi Soleil? 

But, on the third day after his arrival in Paris, fortune 
came miraculously to his aid. 

He had been strolling idly about the city all the morn- 
ing, racking his brains for a plan of action. He reached 
the Pont de Neuf about noon, and stood a few minutes 
leaning over the side of the bridge staring down at the 
rush of water beneath the arches. It was the dinner- 
hour, and a drizzle of rain was falling, consequently the 
streets were almost deserted, and the bridge itself free 
of traffic. Suddenly a coach, driven from the direction 
of the city, turned on to the bridge and came to an abrupt 
halt in the centre. The coachman and lackeys dis- 
mounted, the door was flung wide and a laughing maid 
hopped out. The servants then lined up in front of the 
open door, bowed mockingly to the occupant of the ve- 
hicle, and all with one accord ran laughing and jeering 
back towards the city, leaving the coach unattended in 
the centre of the deserted bridge. 

All this happened so suddenly that Anthony had no 
possibility of interfering, but when he saw the last of the 
truant servants disappearing, he sprang to his feet and 
hurried towards the coach, fearing lest the horses should 
take fright. As he drew near he became aware of a 
shrill voice pouring forth a torrent of malediction and 
threat. 


126 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


‘‘Ah! scelerats! Ah! villians! But they shall smart 
for this. I will skin them alive. I will beat them to a 
jelly. Not another hour shall they be in my service. 
The ingrates ! Sacre Dieu ! What shall I do ? What will 
become of me?” 

Anthony walked to the door of the coach and peered 
in. An angry red-faced woman, with the thin lips and 
drawn brows indicative of a temper imperfectly con- 
trolled, sat within in full Court dress, wringing her 
hands, shaking her cane, and sobbing with rage, but 
making no further effort to cope with her misadventure. 
Anthony bowed low and interrupted her cries by an 
offer of assistance. 

She turned and stared at him curiously. Then she 
leaned forward and peered past him up and down the 
deserted bridge. 

“Alack!” she cried, “it is even as they said. They 
have left me.” 

“That being the case, Madame, will you accept my 
services?” urged Anthony. 

“Why, what can you do?” she wailed. “They have 
left me.” 

“Then permit me to fill their place, Madame, and 
drive you to your destination. ’Tis to be presumed you 
do not wish to remain here.” 

“Ah! to be sure,” she cried, “I cannot remain here. 
But how can you fill their place? There were five of 
them.” 

Anthony smiled. 

“Why, as to that, Madame, I will drive the coach, 
which I take it is the only service of immediate neces- 
sity. I will likewise endeavour to look as ornamental as 
three lackeys, and prove as serviceable as your maid, 
should necessity arise. Will you accept my help?” 

The lady lifted her glass and examined him carefully, 
then she nodded. 


LACKEY OF PRINCESSE D’HARCOURT 1^7 

‘^You have an honest look, and — I cannot remain 
Here. You shall drive me.’’ 

‘^You honour me, Madame. Where shall we go?” 

‘‘To Versailles, of course,” she answered, leaning back 
on her cushions and motioning to him to close the door. 
“I am the Princesse d’Harcourt.” 

As Anthony climbed to the box and gathered up the 
reins his eyes sparkled and his heart beat high with 
excitement. Here, at his hand, lay the first clue to his 
puzzle; he did not mean to let it go. As he drove the 
lumbering coach along the shady road to Versailles, he 
laid his plans, and directly they drew up in the Inner 
Court before the Palace he put into action the resolu- 
tion he had taken. Springing to the ground, he opened 
the door and bowed low to the Princess. 

“Have my services met with Madame ’s favour?” he 
asked humbly, using to the best of his ability the patois 
of the peasant class. 

The Princess nodded. 

“Yes, I am in your debt.” 

“Then will Madame take me into her service, in place 
of one of the rascals who have deserted her ? ” he begged 
earnestly. 

She started and eyed him curiously. 

“Who are you?” 

“An Englishman, Madame, who has fallen into mis- 
fortunes, and seeks employment out of his own country. 
I have good knowledge of horses, or I would serve 
Madame as her lackey.” 

“But what know you of a lackey’s duties?” she asked, 
eyeing him in bewilderment. 

“If Madame will but employ me, she shall have no 
cause to complain. At least I will not desert her, as 
did those rascals this afternoon.” 

The recollection brought the flush of anger to the 
Princess’s face. She shook her cane. 


128 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


‘‘Ah! the scelerats!’^ she muttered savagely. Then 
she turned and stared at Anthony. 

“It is true I must find new servants/’ she muttered. 

“But — if I hire you, there must be no idleness. I 
shall expect from you what services I choose to demand. ’ ’ 

“What else, Madame?” he asked humbly. “Be as- 
sured I shall offer Your Highness a faithful service.” 

The Princess snorted. “Then ’twill be the first time 
I have met with it,” she said shortly. “Eh! bien! it 
shall be as you wish, for, sacre Dieu! I am weary of 
these pestilent peasants. See to it the horses are cared 
for, and be prepared to wait on me at the supper hour.” 

She climbed down from her coach and passed on into 
the Palace, while Anthony, wild with triumph, drove 
the coach away to the Grand Stables. 

The next twenty-four hours were spent by him in 
learning his way about the great rabbit-warren of Ver- 
sailles and in making acquaintances among his fellows. 
In a life where even the great ladies of the Court could 
not hope to enjoy the privacy of their bed-chambers, 
Anthony rightly judged it futile for him to hope to 
escape observation. Consequently it was his policy to 
disarm curiosity by frankly intermingling with his fel- 
lows, and to accustom them as speedily as possible to his 
presence. He found them for the most part as idle and 
insolent a set of rascals as heart could wish, but, when not 
intolerably stupid, they proved amusing enough, and 
Anthony, taking care not to be outdone in arrogance, 
soon ruffled it with the best of them. 

He had expected discomforts, and his expectations 
were realised ; the food, though plentiful, was little to be 
distinguished from the greasy refuse of the kitchen sink, 
and the only accommodation he could boast of was a 
shake-down in the corridor outside his lady’s room, and 
a turn at the pump in the stable-yard. But this was 
merely the fulfilment of the prospect he had steadily 


LACKEY OF PRINCESSE D’HARCOURT 129 

faced during his drive to Versailles; he bore it with a 
grim endurance and speedily found many means of 
lessening the discomforts of his life. 

It was in the conditions of his service that his greatest 
trial lay. He had hoped to be permitted to act as coach- 
man or groom to his mistress, an occupation which would 
have been comparatively congenial. But the Princesse 
d 'Hareourt, notoriously unfortunate with her household, 
had no intention of hiding the fact that she possessed 
the handsomest and most polished lackey in France. 
Though undoubtedly puzzled by Anthony’s personality 
she was excessively proud of her new possession, and 
when she reorganised her household (an event which oc- 
curred about every week) she appointed him chief 
equerry and attendant upon her person. The duties 
of such a post consisted chiefly in waiting upon the 
Princess when she took her meals in private, and fetch- 
ing and carrying at her command ; they were, certes, not 
arduous, but Anthony was expected to be constantly in 
attendance, and the long idle hours he was compelled to 
spend waiting at her door, or following her through the 
gardens, almost drove him to distraction. 

Moreover, this good lady was noted for her scolding 
tongue and unrestrained temper. Not many hours 
elapsed before he fully realised the reason of his predeces- 
sors’ unceremonious desertion of their mistress, and it 
must be confessed he extended to them his hearty sym- 
pathy. Scarcely an hour would pass without some out- 
burst of fury, when she rated all her household with 
unbridled tongue and beat her maids round her cham- 
ber till the cane fell from her exhausted fingers. 

Now all this doubtless Anthony could have tolerated 
with fair equanimity, had he felt close to his goal, but 
day after day passed and success was no nearer to his 
hand. He saw the King, indeed, constantly, dining in 
public, walking through the Salon des Glaces, traversing 


ISO 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


the gardens in his chair, or sitting on the terrace with 
‘^the little Duchess,’’ his well beloved granddaughter. 
Louis was always in the public eye, but nevertheless he 
was as inaccessible, in his circle of valets, courtiers and 
Gardes Suisses, as though he were enclosed in a fortress. 
Many a time Anthony was close enough to see the Cross 
depending from the Cordon-bleu sparkling on his breast, 
but he knew that any open attempt to obtain it must 
mean instant death. 

Meanwhile, quite unconsciously, Anthony was excit- 
ing the interest and the envy of all the ladies of Ver- 
sailles. In a life so hedged in by rigid rules of etiquette 
any novelty was a joy indeed, and the possession by the 
Princesse d’Harcourt of a lackey ‘^as charming as Lau- 
zun, as handsome as Apollo, as well-bred as Monsieur le 
Prince,” was novelty indeed. Gossip raged round his 
identity. The Princess exploited him proudly, the little 
Duchess of Burgundy merrily declared herself wildly in 
love with the prodigy, and though prudent Madame de 
Maintenon shook her head at such an unwonted impor- 
tation and reminded her circle of the tragic fate of 
Mademoiselle de Choiseul, who had married a gardener, 
she was not above casting curious glances at the ‘‘Eng- 
lish lackey” when he waited at her door for his mistress. 

It was towards the end of his first week at Versailles 
that Anthony came under the notice of Bloin, the King’s 
first valet de cJiamhre. He was waiting one evening in 
the passage outside the chamber of Madame de Main- 
tenon, while the Princess paid a visit to her patron, when 
Bloin came hurrying past, preceded by a lackey bearing 
a small silver lamp for the royal chamber. They were 
close to him when suddenly the lackey stumbled and 
fell prone, dropping the lamp, so that the blazing oil ran 
along the corridor, threatening to set alight the arras 
and involve the whole wing in a dangerous conflagration. 

With a cry of rage and terror, Bloin threw himself 


LACKEY OF PRINCESSE D’HARCOURT 131 

on the offending lackey as though intending to use the 
man as an extinguisher for the fire; but, in the mean- 
while, Anthony tore off his coat, wrapped it round his 
hands, and so succeeded in crushing down and beating 
out the fiames. 

When Bloin had recovered his wits he ceased be- 
labouring the prostrate lackey, stood up, shook himself, 
and eyed Anthony with a favourable glance. 

‘‘That was well done, my lad. Who are you?’’ 

“My name is Antoine. I am equerry to the Princesse 
d’Harcourt,” answered Anthony, with grave politeness, 
for, despite the little man’s ruffled exterior, Bloin was a 
power in the Palace and moreover in closest attendance 
upon the King. 

“So! the English lackey! I have heard of you,’^ 
answered the valet thoughtfully. “So sharp a lad is 
wasted in such a service. I have better work for you. 
Come to my room in the Grand Commun to-morrow, 
when the Princess is at Mass. I will tell you how you 
may further your interests.” 

He hurried away to the royal apartments, leaving 
Anthony rejoicing in this new favour of fickle Fortune. 

But his interview with Bloin brought him keen dis- 
appointment. He had hoped to be advanced to the 
King’s service, or to be offered some appointment among 
the valets of the Inner Apartments that should bring 
him nearer to the royal circle ; to his chagrin he learned 
that the promotion for which Bloin destined him was 
none other than to be enrolled in the valet’s band of 
Palace spies. 

Louis, it appears, was insatiable for gossip concerning 
his courtiers; consequently their comings and goings, 
their petty intrigues, their actions, their most private 
conversations were subjected to a strict surveillance by 
means of the lackeys and guards in the pay of Bloin, 
whose duty it was to steal about the Palace and gardens 


13 ^ 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


spying upon the doings of their betters, and dutifully 
report all they had discovered to their master, who, 
in his turn, carried the information to the King. Many 
a courtier who found his career suddenly blocked and 
himself unaccountably deprived of the royal favour, 
owed it to the secret information of the Palace spies. 

Anthony’s first impulse was bluntly to refuse the 
task, but Prudence whispered other counsel. To offend 
Bloin must speedily result in dismissal from Versailles, 
a catastrophe he dared not risk. Further, he could not 
deny that the position of spy would give him more 
freedom of action, excuse for haunting back-stairs and 
private passages, it might even give him opportunity to 
enter the royal apartments; for should any complain of 
his intrusion, the First Valet would hold him free from 
punishment. Moreover, as he cynically reminded him- 
self, it is always possible for a spy to shut eyes and ears 
on occasion and have consequently nothing to report. 
With due expressions of gratitude he accepted Bloin ’s 
offer and received his orders. 

‘‘You will, of course, remain for the present in the 
service of the Princesse d’Harcourt. Use your eyes and 
ears well, especially with regard to matters concerning 
the Duchess of Burgundy. The Duke is out of favour 
since the last campaign, and it is rumoured the friends 
of the Due de Berri are plotting his overthrow. To- 
morrow is fixed for the Fete of the Waters; there will 
be much snuggling and whispering in the Gardens. Be 
at hand to hearken. You are a sharp lad; if you serve 
me well I will advance you further.” 

Bloin dismissed him with a gesture imitated from his 
Royal master, and Anthony retired with a wry face. 
He felt that life was growing unnecessarily complicated. 


CHAPTEE XV 


THE PITIFULNESS OP THE LITTLE DUCHESS 

“With such a dainty dame none can compare: 

Ten thousand thousand Cupids play in her hair, 

A myriad little loves within her eyes 

Lie wanton waiting for some sweet surprise.” 

T he following day the Palace buzzed with excite- 
ment. A fete at Versailles could never be said to 
hold all the joys of masquerades at Marly, but never- 
theless it proved a welcome break in the routine of life 
at Court. The Gardens were illuminated, supper was 
served in the Grove of Domes, musicians were posted 
by the Grand Canal, and the whole Court thronged the 
walks and groves, enjoying the soft beauty of the even- 
ing and the brilliance of the scene. 

True to his orders, Anthony, when freed from the 
immediate service of the Princess, stole out into the 
Gardens with a show of zeal. But having no desire to 
see or hear anything of interest to Bloin, he carefully 
avoided the immediate neighbourhood of the fete, and, 
strolling into the Labyrinth, flung himself down in a 
dark corner behind a group of statuary to enjoy the 
freshness of the air and the unwonted peace and quiet 
of his surroundings. 

Scarcely had he been there five minutes when he be- 
came aware of a figure stealing through the grove and 
coming towards him. The man’s movements were so 
stealthy that, after the first glance, Anthony supposed 
him to be, like himself, one of the Palace spies, and 
ceased to feel much interest in his doings. But the 
fellow came to pause by the group of statuary, within 

133 


134 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


a yard of his hiding-place; there was the sound of a 
stealthy rustle of paper, then the man turned and hur- 
ried away as quietly as he had come. 

Anthony’s curiosity was awakened. When the other 
had vanished he rose and walked round to the front of 
the statue. Hanging prominently, where it must excite 
the notice of anyone walking through the Labyrinth by 
daylight, was a large sheet of paper, covered with writ- 
ing. Anthony peered closely at it and his face flushed 
with sudden anger; he tore it down and crushed it 
flercely in his fingers. For the paper proved nothing 
less than a scurrilous attack upon the honour of the 
Duchess of Burgundy. 

Such an attack directed against any woman would 
have roused the anger of so chivalrous a nature as 
Anthony’s, but that so charming a personality as that 
of ‘‘the little Duchess,” whose light-hearted gaiety was 
the joy of the whole Court, should be chosen as the 
object of this most brutal slander, infuriated him. He 
had been at Versailles little more than a week, but he 
had already fallen victim to her charms. More than 
once, in her presence, he had felt his official gravity 
deserting him at her witty sallies; it had been his chief 
pleasure during his weary hours of compulsory idleness 
to watch the quick play of her features, the eager 
sparkle of her eyes, as she exercised her fascinations 
upon the courtiers around her, or sought to coax a smile 
from the stern lips of Madame de Maintenon. 

As he thought of her now, in connection with that 
foul attack, his hand flew unconsciously to his side in 
search of the sword he no longer bore, and his face 
wore a look few men had seen on the face of Anthony 
Claverton. 

He was startled by the sound of a light laugh close at 
hand. The irresponsible gaiety of that laughter was 
unmistakable. Guiltily conscious of the scurrilous pa- 


PITIFULNESS OF LITTLE DUCHESS 135 


per in his hand, Anthony slipped out of sight behind 
the statuary, and a second later the subject of his 
thoughts, the little Duchess herself, appeared, running 
lightly through the boscage and looking back over her 
shoulder with a smile of saucy defiance. She paused 
within a few yards of him, still looking behind her with 
a mischievous expectation. Presently a second figure 
appeared, and at sight of him Anthony stifled a curse, 
for, despite the darkness, he had small difficulty in rec- 
ognising the thin figure, fair hair and husky voice of 
Colbert ^s nephew Maulevrier, the very man mentioned 
in that paper he held in his hand. 

For a moment Anthony doubted ; his faith in woman- 
kind trembling in the scale. Then he looked again at 
the laughing face of the little Duchess, and he knew 
that whatsoever others might plot against her, she her- 
self was innocent of harm. 

The Duchess sat at the foot of the statue of Minerva, 
and Maulevrier stood before her, looking down at her 
with hot, passionate eyes. 

‘‘Why will you ever run from me, Madame U’ he 
asked despairingly. “I have but enjoyed five minutes 
of your company.’’ 

“Pie, Monsieur, I vow you have hung on my skirts 
the evening through,” she retorted demurely. 

“Nay, Madame, who counts time in Purgatory?’^ 

“Purgatory?” she cried, with a pouting lip. 

He stooped and snatched her hands in his. “Is it 
not Purgatory to be denied the sweets a man would give 
his soul to win?” 

The Duchess laughed, a trifle nervously. “Fie, Mon- 
sieur! What would you? Have I not danced thrice 
with you to-night?” 

“Thrice!” he cried bitterly. “Ay, and how often 
with that pestilent Nangis? By Heaven, I’ll endure it 
no longer! I have you at last.” 


136 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


He fell on his knees beside her and pressed his face 
close to hers. She drew back angrily. 

‘‘Beware, Monsieur de Maulevrier, do not trespass 
too far upon my pity. Let go my hands, sir! I in- 
sist.’’ 

“Ah! Marie, Marie, I love you!” he murmured, 
ignoring her command. 

Again the Duchess laughed, seeking cover for her 
fears in mockery. “Sacre Dieu, Monsieur! You have 
told me so a dozen times, and I find the repetition 
vastly wearisome. Have you no other theme save 
Love?” 

“No,” he answered, almost dreamily, “for to-night 
is the Love-night of the world. To-night at last you 
are mine.” 

She pulled her hands from his grasp and rose to her 
feet. “What do you mean. Monsieur?” she cried 
angrily. 

He laughed softly. “We are alone, Marie, alone at 
last. You cannot call for help, for you dare not draw 
a scandal on your head. I vow you shall not leave me 
till you have given me all that you have taught me to 
desire. ’ ’ 

The Duchess stepped back quickly and drew herself 
up to her full height. Her voice trembled a little, but 
her manner was full of dignity. 

“Monsieur de Maulevrier, you forget yourself. 
Either leave me instantly, or hold yourself for ever ban- 
ished from my favour.” 

Again his husky laugh echoed through the boscage. 
“You have tempted me, Marie; you have taught me 
to love you. Shall I leave you now, when my hour has 
come? Not though a thousand furies stood waiting to 
hurl me to perdition!” 

As he spoke he drew ever nearer, his face distorted 
with passion, and the little Duchess pressed farther and 


PITIFULNESS OF LITTLE DUCHESS 137 


farther back into the bushes, whispering breathlessly: 
“Go! Leave me, Monsieur. I command it.” 

Suddenly she felt herself pushed unceremoniously 
aside. A tall blue figure darted past her. Maulevrier, 
all unprepared for attack, was pinioned in a fierce em- 
brace. There was a second’s pause, then the blue fig- 
ure, still holding the astonished courtier in his grasp, 
staggered laboriously across the grass towards the foun- 
tain at the corner of the Labyrinth. There was a short 
struggle, a resounding splash, and the blue figure ran 
back alone to where the Duchess stood, trembling be- 
twixt fear and bewildered laughter. 

“Come, Madame!” he said shortly, seizing her hand. 

Together they ran through the trees to the far side 
of the grove and then into the open space by the parterre 
of orange trees. There they paused and listened, hold- 
ing their breath. They heard Maulevrier in the dis- 
tance spluttering, coughing and swearing through the 
grove, but he passed out at the other side and crept 
off to hide his drenched garments from the curious eyes 
of the Court. 

Then the two turned and faced each other, and when 
the little Duchess saw who was her rescuer she first 
flushed a deep crimson, and then she wrinkled her brows 
in dismay, and then she laughed, a delicious laugh of 
spontaneous, irrepressible amusement. But in the end 
she frowned severely and shook her head. 

“Alas! what have you done? He will be so angry. 
Assuredly he will never pardon this.” 

“Madame, it is for him to seek pardon, not to offer 
it,” answered Anthony sternly. “For the rest, when 
the gentleman shall have recovered from the fever I 
trust his ducking will produce, I shall be most happy to 
give him a further lesson in manners.” 

She stared at him. “You! But how, a’ Heaven’s 
name ? ’ ’ 


138 THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 

‘‘Egad, Madame, ’tis to be presumed he bears a 
sword. ’ ’ 

“But a gentleman does not cross swords with — a 
lackey.” 

Now, from the moment he had set eyes on the scur- 
rilous attack upon the Duchess of Burgundy, Anthony 
had completely forgotten the role he was playing; he 
had dismissed the lackey entirely from his mind. Her 
words brought him sharply back to a recollection of 
the situation. He flushed and bit his lip with vexa- 
tion. 

“Peste!” he muttered. “I had quite forgot.” 

But the little Duchess clapped her hands softly and 
broke into a low gurgle of delight. “I was sure of it, 
Monsieur,” she cried eagerly. “I have told de Nogaret 
a thousand times. You are but a counterfeit lackey. 
In your own country you are noble. Is it not so ? Ah ! 
it must be so.” 

Anthony tried in vain to assume an expression of 
stolid bewilderment, but Marie Adelaide of Burgundy 
was not easy to resist. He looked down into the roguish, 
expectant little face, and an unwilling smile wrinkled 
round his eyes. 

“Madame, you will not betray me?” he pleaded. 

The Duchess assumed an air of truly amazing 
solemnity. 

“Who knows? I must flrst hear the meaning of this 
masquerade. What brings you here? Is it a woman?” 

Anthony hesitated. “Certes, a woman is at the bot- 
tom of it,” he said slowly, his thoughts turning to 
Louise. 

Again her solemnity deserted her, she gave a little 
wriggle of excitement. “Ah! but this is indeed a ro- 
mance. Who can she be? Not sure the Princesse 
d ’Harcourt ? ’ ’ 


PITIFULNESS OP LITTLE DUCHESS 1S9 


‘‘Good Lord, no!’’ cried Anthony, with a grimace of 
horror. 

“But who then? Mademoiselle de Noyenne? Made- 
moiselle de Charlois? Mademoiselle d ’Orleans ” 

He stopped her with a smiling shake of his head. 

“Ah, Madame,” he said gallantly, “to my thinking 
there is but one woman at Versailles could spur a man 
to such a venture, and she, alas, blooms too high for any 
save a prince to pluck.” 

His words said much, but his eyes said more. The 
little Duchess flashed him a roguish glance from her 
brown eyes and pursed her lips demurely. 

“In truth. Monsieur, Madame de Maintenon will be 
gratified by your esteem!” 

“Madame de Main !” 

“Was it not she of whom you spoke?” 

Anthony looked down at her with twinkling eyes. 
“In very truth, Madame, of whom else could I be think- 
ing?” 

Her pursed lips curved suddenly, she laughed up into 
his face. “Monsieur is very discreet.” 

^‘A virtue to be commended in the presence of 
Madame la Duchesse de Burgoyne,” he answered 
promptly. 

She made no reply, but her glance was eloquent. It 
must, in truth, be confessed, this little Marie Adelaide 
of Burgundy, like all charming women before and since 
her time, was an incorrigible flirt. 

She was likewise true daughter of Eve in her curios- 
ity. No gallantry could long turn her thoughts from 
the reason for Anthony’s presence at Versailles. 

“But, Monsieur, you say no woman here has brought 
you to Prance. What, then? Why have you come?” 

Anthony saw that he must tell her at least part of the 
truth. 


140 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


‘^Have you, at Versailles, the habit of laying wagers, 
Madame?’’ he asked slowly. 

‘‘Wagers? Ah, to be sure! Monsieur le Due de 
Saint Simon wagered us four pistoles that Lille would 
be taken.” 

“Four pistoles! Madame, this wager is for ten thou- 
sand guineas.” 

She gave a little gasp, her eyes brightened. “Ah, 
but what a gamble! Lansquenet or brelan are not to 
be compared. And what stake lies on the other side?” 

“My life, Madame,” he answered simply. 

But now the fa,ce of the little Duchess grew on a sud- 
den very grave. 

“Pardon me. Monsieur,” she said quietly. “I must 
know the terms of so great a wager.” 

“Alas, Madame, forgive me. I cannot tell you,” he 
answered, smiling. 

But she drew herself up with a sudden new dignity. 

“Listen, Monsieur,” she said gravely. “Our coun- 
tries are at war. For all I know this matter imports the 
safety of the State. So great a stake should hardly 
concern a trivial affair. You must tell me the 
truth. ’ ’ 

The smile died out of Anthony’s eyes, he looked at 
her anxiously. 

“Madame, I swear to you by my honour, this matter 
concerns neither the State nor the Army, and will in no 
way endanger the safety of the King or the country. ’ ’ 

“And you, Monsieur, who swear this to me?” she 
asked coldly. “Who are you?” 

But Anthony stood silent, dumbfounded, cursing the 
recklessness which had brought him to this pass. For 
she had led him on, this laughing, roguish little Duchess, 
till he stood confessed impostor, and then with a sud- 
den dignity and resolution of which he had not dreamed 
her possessed, she turned and showed him that he lay 


PITIFULNESS OF LITTLE DUCHESS 141 


in her power, dependent on her will for the success or 
failure of his quest. 

Bitterly he cursed his reckless folly. And yet — when 
he looked at her he could not — no, in truth, he could not 
marvel at his amazing carelessness. 

She tapped her foot impatiently. ‘‘Well, Monsieur, 
I am awaiting your explanation.’’ 

He stared at her helplessly. He had no gift for de- 
ceit, he knew well he could not hope to devise a fiction 
sufficiently convincing to satisfy her. If he told her 
the truth and should chance to win her sympathy, none 
other could help him so effectively. But would she 
sympathise? Would she pardon? Would she under- 
stand ? He doubted. 

As he stood hesitating, his hand brushed his doublet, 
and the paper which he had concealed there rustled 
beneath his fingers. His face cleared suddenly. For 
he knew — could he but play it wisely — he held there a 
trump card should yield him the victory. He turned to 
her frankly. 

“I am, Madame, Anthony Claverton, a man tolerably 
well known at St. James’s. Her Grace of Queensberry 
would give you my credentials. I am here at Versailles 
in order to win a wager, the terms of which are that I 
steal, before six weeks are out, the Cordon-bleu of His 
Majesty King Louis of France.” 

She stared at him wide-eyed. “The Cordon-bleu!” 
she muttered. 

“Ay, Madame. The loss will but inconvenience His 
Majesty a few weeks. The jewel will doubtless be pres- 
ently returned.” 

For a moment she stood silent, her lips pressed reso- 
lutely together, her eyes shrouded beneath their heavy 
lashes. Anthony eyed her anxiously. Suddenly her 
shoulders began to shake, her breast heaved, her lips 
trembled. She made one desperate effort to maintain 


142 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


her gravity, but in vain; the irrepressible laughter rip- 
pled up from her throat, in another moment she was 
shaking from head to foot with helpless merriment. 

‘‘Oh, you English! you English!’’ she gasped. “But 
assuredly you are all mad.” 

Presently she grew quiet and turned to him sharply. 

“And how do you purpose to succeed in your em- 
prise?” 

“I do not know,” he answered frankly. 

“Then I shall tell you, Monsieur. You will not suc- 
ceed. For it is not seemly that Royal France be made 
the subject of a common wager. The affair must be 
abandoned. You shall go hence in all safety, but go 
you must — to-night.” 

“Alas, Madame, that may not be. I have vowed to 
win this wager or lose my life in the attempt. I cannot 
give it up.” 

She looked troubled. “But I cannot permit it.” 

“You will betray me?” he asked reproachfully. 

“Ah, will you not go away?” she pleaded. 

“Only with the jewel in my possession,” he replied 
resolutely. 

She flushed. “But — but if I entreat you?” she mur- 
mured. 

“Alas, Madame. My honour is at stake. I am 
pledged to carry the affair through.” 

She frowned and drew herself up. “Then, Monsieur, 
I have no choice. His Majesty must be informed of 
your presence here.” 

“You will betray me?” he asked again, and his eyes 
reproached her bitterly. 

She set her lips obstinately. “I have no choice.” 

Then Anthony drew out his trump card. “So be it,” 
he said gently. “I must face what comes. But since 
it is scarce likely I may speak with you again, let me 
entreat one favour of you.” 


PITIFULNESS OF LITTLE DUCHESS 14S 

She turned quickly. ^'What would you have me doT’ 

'‘Madame, be prudent. Avoid Monsieur de Maule- 
vrier. You have enemies at Court.’’ 

Her face blanched suddenly. "What mean you? 
Have — have you found — something?” 

He drew out the crumpled paper from his doublet. 
"I found this, Madame, a half-hour since, pinned to the 
statue of Minerva near where His Majesty is wont to 
take his morning walk.” 

She put out her hand for the paper; he noticed that 
her arm trembled slightly. He held it from her. 

"No, Madame,” he said gently. "It is too scurrilous 
for your eyes. ’Tis an infamous lie. Nevertheless, if 
His Majesty were aware of this^ ” 

She gave a little shiver. "You are right,” she mut- 
tered. "He will not pardon a scandal. Already the 

Duke is out of favour, — if I, too, lose his regard Ah ! 

Sancta Maria! What shall I do?” 

"Why, Madame, thank Heaven the paper is fallen 
into my hands,” said Anthony gently. 

She turned and looked at him, her eyes were fearful. 
"Into your hands!” she said slowly. "Why, but this 
puts me into your power — your power 

"No, by Heaven, Madame,” he said quietly. "I do 
not fight with such weapons as this.” Deliberately he 
tore the paper across and across and handed her the 
pieces. "There, Madame, I counsel you destroy this 
filthy witness, and put the matter from your mind.” 

She took the papers mechanically; her eyes never 
left his face. 

"I think. Monsieur,” she said slowly, "I think you 
are very — generous.” 

Anthony flushed and dropped his eyes before her 
frank gaze. She drew a step nearer. "You will not 
go away and abandon your enterprise?” she asked 
again entreatingly. 


144 ! 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


cannot, Madame.’’ 

‘‘But — if — you are betrayed ?” 

“I must pay the penalty.” 

“Death?” she muttered breathlessly. 

“It comes to all in time, Madame.” 

“Yet — ^yet You saved me from Maulevrier, you 

have spared me this disgrace, — I would not send you to 
your death.” 

“Alack, Madame, you have told me you have no 
choice. ’ ’ 

She shook her head. “You have saved me. It shall 
not be said that an English gentleman gave the mother 
of France’s kings a lesson in generosity.” 

Anthony stooped towards her. “Madame,” he said 
softly, “do you then spare me?” 

She stood a moment silent, looking up into his face. 
Then she nodded her head. “Go your way in peace. 
Monsieur, I will not betray you. For, indeed,” she 
added, as though in sudden justification for her con- 
duct, “there is no likelihood that you will succeed in 
your venture, and punishment will fall in due time.” 

Anthony saw the corners of her lips relax, his eyes 
twinkled. He drew a step nearer. “But, alas! 
Madame,” he sighed grandiloquently, “is it seemly that 
the Roi Soleil, the Grand Monarque, Louis, beloved of 
gods and men, be made the subject of a common 
wager?” 

She looked at him for a moment in grave rebuke. 
Then suddenly an answering smile crept into her eyes. 
Her lips dimpled. 

“No,” she said unsteadily. “No — it is not seemly. 
But” — here she broke into a sudden ripple of delicious 
laughter — “but — ma foil — it is monstrous droll!” 

She clapped both hands over her mouth to stifle her 
laughter, threw him one more roguish glance from her 
brown eyes, then turned and ran rapidly across the 
grass and vanished in the shade of the trees. 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE DISPATCHES OF THE DUC DE VENDOME 

‘'Is she wronged? To the rescue of her honour.” 

N OW the following day there befell an occurrence 
which caused Anthony more annoyance than any- 
thing that had happed since his coming to Versailles. 

As has been stated, the Princesse d^Harcourt was 
noted for her violent temper, which made her the mock 
of her acquaintances, but the terror of her household. 
Hitherto, Anthony had done nothing to incur her anger, 
and she had been too pleased with her new possession 
to chide him wantonly. But either the excitement of 
the fete had proved too much for her nerves, or some 
event had occurred to annoy her ; certain it was, the day 
following Anthony ’s interview with the Duchess of 
Burgundy she was in as raging and unreasonable a 
temper as any woman in Christendom. 

All the morning she scolded and harried her unfor- 
tunate servants until every nerve was on edge and her 
women were w^eeping with terror. Even Anthony could 
do no right, and came in for his share of her shrewish 
tongue, which he bore with a scornful equanimity that 
only further infuriated her. But the climax came, 
about an hour before dinner, when she stepped out to 
take her daily walk about the terrace, followed by her 
reluctant equerry bearing her scarf, fan, and box of 
comfits. The Gardens were well filled, but the Prin- 
cess’s face sufficiently advertised her humour, no one 
was in a hurry to join her company. This neglect put 
the final spark to her ill-temper. She paused in the 

145 


146 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


middle of the terrace and, turning sharply to Anthony, 
demanded her comfit-box. Now by this time Anthony 
was himself in no pleasant mood ; it may be he handed 
the box in a somewhat cavalier fashion, not caring over- 
much what befell it. However that may be, between 
them they dropped the box, the delicate china lid was 
cracked, and the comfits scattered far and wide. 

The Princess stared for a second at the ruin at her 
feet, then, with a veritable scream of rage, she grasped 
her cane and proceeded mercilessly to belabour An- 
thony’s head and shoulders with the fiercest blows her 
strength could command. 

For a second Anthony was too astonished to realise 
what had befallen him ; then his face flushed dull crim- 
son and his eyes gleamed with a dangerous light. He 
put up his hand to snatch the cane from her fingers — ■ 
and then stopped. For on a sudden he remembered 
his position. A lackey must bear with submission 
whatsoever indignity his mistress might choose to put 
upon him; any attempt at resistance would assuredly 
bring about his instant expulsion from the Palace, if no 
heavier punishment fell to his lot. 

So it befell that Anthony Claverton, of Claverton 
Abbey, stood with meekly bowed head while an irate 
little Frenchwoman belaboured him vigorously with her 
ebony cane and passing courtiers sniggered at his dis- 
comfiture. 

The pain of the blows, to be sure, was no great matter 
to a Corinthian; he had borne many shrewder knocks 
in the salons of the mighty Figg, but the ignominy of 
his position was very bitter to his soul. For a few 
minutes it seemed to him that not even for Sylvia’s 
sake, not even to save his honour, could he tolerate 
for another day the service of this woman who thus 
shamed him publicly. It required the most iron self- 
control to hold himself from forcibly snatching the cane 


DISPATCHES OF DUG DE VENDOME 147 

from her clenched fingers and bowing her a haughty 
farewell. 

At last the Princess paused, weary with her exertion. 
She leaned on her cane, scowling and breathless. 

‘‘Go, miscreant!’’ she cried shrilly. “So much for 
your clumsiness. Go, bring me another box, and, sacre 
Dieu! see to it you return quickly, or I will teach you 
another lesson I Be off I ” 

Anthony turned on his heel and strode back towards 
the Palace, his face white with anger. For the nonce 
his sense and his judgment were blinded by rage and 
injured pride; it seemed to him that he was shamed 
before all the world. 

And then suddenly, just inside the loggia, he came 
face to face with the little Duchess of Burgundy, walk- 
ing with her favourite woman, de Nogaret. As he stood 
aside to let her pass, she paused for a second and looked 
up at him with her twinkling brown eyes. Had there 
been a vestige of pity on her face his anger would have 
been redoubled, but her look expressed nothing but the 
most whole-hearted amusement at this whimsical turn 
of Pate. She gave a comic little nod of her head. 

“So, Monsieur,” she said softly, “punishment is not 
long delayed. But I scarce credited Nemesis with so 
amazingly droll a humour.” 

With another little laugh and nod she tripped past 
him and joined the Princesse d’Har court. But Anthony 
went on upon his errand with sanity restored and his 
whole outlook upon life sweetened by the saving sense 
of humour. For the little Duchess had reminded him 
that no man is shamed who can smile at his own ill- 
fortune, and the infectious spirit of her laughter showed 
him on a sudden the absurdity of the situation. As 
he hurried back to his mistress he found himself laugh- 
ing, albeit a little grimly, at the recollection of his beat- 
ing, and in his heart he blessed this bewitching Marie 


148 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


Adelaide, who had saved him from the folly of an un- 
governable hatred. 

For the next two days Anthony found himself en- 
gaged in a fierce warfare betwixt prudence and chivalry. 
He had already more upon his hands than he could 
compass. His mistress complained of his laxity in her 
service; Bloin grumbled over the meagreness of the 
reports of his espionage; he himself realised with dis- 
may that he was no nearer the goal of his desires than 
when he first set foot in France. He was surrounded 
by dangers ; any moment suspicion might fall upon him, 
or some occurrence arise to betray his identity; it was 
even possible Kirkpatrick the Jacobite might appear at 
Versailles with a message from St. Germains, and so 
prove his undoing. Certes, he had enough to occupy 
his thoughts. 

And yet, ever since he had looked into the bewitching 
eyes of the little Duchess, he had been conscious of an 
overwhelming desire to take her quarrel upon his own 
overburdened shoulders. For little that passed in the 
Palace of Versailles was hidden from the lackeys 
thereof. Popular though the Duchess undoubtedly was, 
Anthony knew her to be surrounded by enemies. To be 
sure, no more papers had adorned the statuary of Ver- 
sailles, but slanderous tongues were busy with her name, 
and Paris was flooded with chansons frankly question- 
ing not only the courage and loyalty of that soldier- 
saint her husband, but also the good fame of the Duchess 
herself. It was not difficult to trace such enmity to its 
source: General Vendome found the gentle-spirited heir 
to the Throne of France convenient scapegoat for the 
disastrous results of his own military incapacity, and 
while he strove to undermine the Duke’s reputation in 
camp, a strong cabal of his own creatures at Court 
sought to influence the King against the rightful heir 
to the Throne in favour of his younger brother, the Due 
de Berri. 


DISPATCHES OF DUG DE VENDOME 149 


All this was common knowledge; but at Versailles 
few were to be found willing to render service to a 
waning star, and the little Duchess, in her brave strug- 
gle to protect her husband’s reputation and overthrow 
the machinations of his enemies, found no man to serve 
her with honest aid or counsel. 

Yet Anthony, caring neither for the favour of Louis 
nor the anger of Vendome, pined to thrust himself into 
her quarrel. In vain he reminded himself of the dan- 
ger in which he stood, of the imperative need for cau- 
tion in all his actions; he could not subdue to bis own 
interests the chivalrous promptings of his nature. 
Small wonder, then, when opportunity presented itself, 
if he plunged heart and soul into the service of the 
little Duchess. 

Now Chamillart, the Secretary of State, was a man 
of little resolution, easily influenced by the party of 
Vendome. He was aware of the scandalous vaudevilles 
and chansons published in Paris, as also of certain inso- 
lent letters written by courtiers against the Duke of 
Burgundy, but he made no effort to suppress them. His 
credit with the King was great, and the Duchess looked 
upon him as one of the most harmful of her husband’s 
enemies. Should it prove possible to bring him under 
the King’s displeasure, the influence of the cabal would 
undoubtedly be weakened. 

This Chamillart was a notable player of billiards; 
indeed, it was generally rumoured that he owed his po- 
sition to his skill in Louis’ favourite pastime. He was 
playing one afternoon with the Bishop of Langres, in 
the Hall of Diana, when Anthony had occasion to enter 
with a message from the Princesse d’Harcourt to the 
Bishop. The latter, however, was deep in his game and 
curtly bade the lackey wait, which Anthony, interested 
in the play, was nothing loth to do. 

Now, as he stood in the doorway watching the game, 
on a sudden he heard a horse gallop into the Royal 


150 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


Court, and presently Chamillart ’s secretary entered hur- 
riedly in search of his master. 

Chamillart looked up angrily at the interruption. 

‘‘What is it?’’ he demanded sharply. 

“A courier from the Due de Vendome, sir,” said the 
secretary eagerly. “Here are his dispatches.” 

He held out a bulky packet; Chamillart eyed it dis- 
tastefully. He disliked any interruption to his game, 
especially when matched against so brilliant an oppo- 
nent as the Bishop of Langres. 

“Has His Majesty returned from his drive?” he asked 
sharply. 

“Not yet, sir,” answered the secretary, somewhat 
crestfallen at this curt reception of his news. 

“Ah! then there is no need to interrupt our play,” 
said the Minister gladly. “Put the packet on my table 
and keep the courier in attendance, Grandclos. I will 
come anon.” 

The secretary withdrew and the Minister turned back 
to his game. 

But Anthony waited no longer for the answer to the 
Princess’s message, although, as he ruefully realised, 
he thereby risked another castigation; he slipped si- 
lently from the room and followed the secretary. For 
there had come to him suddenly the amazing resolution 
to steal the dispatches, and thereby bring the enemy of 
the little Duchess into disgrace. It was a sudden rash 
impulse, inexcusable indeed in one whose position was 
already so endangered, but not inexplicable to anyone 
who has gazed on the pictured face of the bewitching 
Marie Adelaide. 

The afternoon was fine, and as usual on such occasions 
the Palace was almost entirely emptied of its occupants. 
Anthony followed Grandclos through the silent gal- 
leries unnoticed. He had already discovered that a 
lackey is possessed of many of the enviable qualities of 


DISPATCHES OF DUG DE VENDOME 151 


an invisible man; the habitues of Versailles looked upon 
such a one as a member of an inferior race; servants 
came and went unnoted, many of the most private con- 
versations, the most secret intrigues, were carried on in 
their presence. 

It was Anthony’s first reckless intention to enter the 
Minister’s room under some pretext and seek opportu- 
nity to take the papers from under the very nose of 
Grandclos, but Fortune intervened on his behalf and 
saved him from the necessity of risking such a 
venture. 

Half-way across the Salon des Glaces Grandclos en- 
countered Mademoiselle de Guernal and came to a sud- 
den halt, for, as all the Court knew. Mademoiselle’s 
blue eyes had wrought havoc in the heart of Chamillart ’s 
secretary. Anthony paused in the shadow of a marble 
pilaster and leaned negligently against the wall, with 
all the air of an idle lackey awaiting his master. 

Mademoiselle was not unencumbered; in her arms 
she held a small black spaniel lolling out its tongue with 
the most absurdly affected air of suffering. Found one 
of its paws was a minute lace handkerchief. Made- 
moiselle raised reproachful blue eyes to Grandclos. 

‘‘So, Monsieur, this is how you keep your promise. 
Did you not swear to be in the Salon de la Paix at three 
o’ the clock to look at the injured foot of the poor 
Didan? I have waited there this half-hour past.” 

“Alas, Mademoiselle, I am desole,” cried poor Grand- 
clos remorsefully. “But these dispatches arrived for 
His Grace. What could I do?” 

Mademoiselle eyed the dispatches as distastefully as 
Chamillart. 

“They cannot be of great import. Assuredly His 
Grace can wait for them a couple of minutes. And my 
poor Didan is in such pain.” 

She eyed him with deep reproach. Grandclos yielded. 


152 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


^‘May I not look at the foot now, Mademoiselle?” 
he asked eagerly. 

‘‘Ah, but you are kind!” she cried gladly, holding 
out her burden. 

Grandclos laid the dispatches on a console-table at 
his elbow, and taking the spaniel, proceeded to remove 
the handkerchief. He peered at the foot with a puz- 
zled face. 

“Where is the injury. Mademoiselle?” he asked 
doubtfully. 

Mademoiselle flushed a little. An artful daughter of 
Eve prefers a little assistance in her make-believe. 

“But is it possible that you do not see it!” she 
cried reproachfully. “Look, Monsieur, this mark of 
red. ’ ’ 

Grandclos crossed the salon and stepped into the win- 
dow embrasure, the better to examine the scratched paw. 
Mademoiselle followed him. Anthony’s moment had 
come. 

He looked up and down the salon; it was empty. 
He looked at the two in the window reflected in the 
mirror opposite, their heads were very close together, 
bent over Didan’s paw. He took his risk. 

Swiftly he slipped out from his hiding-place, picked 
up the dispatches, and sped down the length of the 
salon, with the sweat standing out in beads upon his 
brow. 

Every moment he expected to hear a cry behind him, 
but all went well ; Grandclos and his lady were too much 
occupied. But, as he passed out of the Salon des Glaces 
into the Salon de la Guerre, he heard the sound of ap- 
proaching footsteps. To be seen with the packet in his 
hand would be fatal. Quick as thought he stooped and 
pushed it beneath the white damask hangings by the 
window. A minute later Chamillart entered and hur- 
riedly crossed the room; either his game had come to a 


DISPATCHES OF DUC DE VENDOME 153 

speedy conclusion or news of the King’s return had 
recalled him sharply to a sense of his duties. 

With a sigh of relief Anthony reflected that he was 
only just in time; but when he felt the Minister’s sharp 
glance rest upon him for a moment in passing, he began 
to wonder, with a little shiver of fear, whether he were 
not, perchance, a moment too late. 

The hue and cry would be raised in a minute; he 
dared not wait to recover the dispatches. As quickly 
as he might, he hurried through the galleries and went 
in search of the Bishop of Langres, shrewdly judging 
that the greatest safety lay for him in a speedy return 
to his duties. 

But the Bishop of Langres had gone himself to wait 
upon the Princesse d’Harcourt; Anthony had, conse- 
quently, no immediate duties to perform, and no chance 
to establish an alibi. 

He wandered back towards the Princess’s apartments, 
noticing ruefully that his hand was shaking like an 
aspen. 

^^Egad, I’ve small stomach for thieves’ work!” he 
muttered dismally. ‘Hf I tremble like a girl at a mat- 
ter o’ borrowing dispatches for ten minutes, what shall 
I be when I steal the Cordon-bleu ? ” 

And then suddenly the thought came to him that the 
Palace was strangely quiet. No commotion had been 
raised, no hue and cry after the thief, no wild running 
hither and thither such as usually followed hard upon 
any untoward occurrence. With a shock he realised 
that Chamillart neither had published nor would pub- 
lish his loss. The astute Minister would assuredly leave 
no stone unturned to find the missing packet before he 
confessed to King Louis the dire result of his careless- 
ness. Careful search must soon reveal the whereabouts 
of the papers, and the news of the courier’s arrival 
would be kept from the King until Chamillart could 


154 THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 

carry to him tlie dispatches. With dismay Anthony 
saw all his plan threatened with failure. 

Now he had set his heart upon serving the Duchess 
by this trick upon her enemies, he had no mind to see 
it miscarry. He smiled defiantly at his trembling hand, 
threw back his shoulders resolutely, and turned in the 
direction of the Royal apartments. 

The King had returned some quarter of an hour 
earlier, and was chatting with de Rochefoucauld, while 
Bloin put the finishing touches to his toilet. Descan, 
a quick, serviceable fellow, a nephew of Bloin, kept the 
door. Anthony approached him and addressed him in 
tones respectful indeed, but loud enough to be heard 
in the inner room. 

‘‘Madame the Princesse d’Harcourt wishes to know 
whether His Majesty will presently make known to the 
Court the contents of the dispatch he has received from 
the Due de Vendome.” 

Through the doorway Anthony saw the King look up 
quickly, and silence de Rochefoucauld with an impa- 
tient gesture. 

“What is that?” he asked sharply. “What of a 
dispatch ? ’ ’ 

Anthony drew back with an air of apology for speak- 
ing so loudly, the King impatiently motioned him to 
repeat his words. 

“I do not understand,” he said angrily. “Has a 
courier arrived this afternoon?” 

“Yes, Sire. One rode in from the Due de Vendome 
a half-hour since,” answered Anthony nervously. 

Louis looked angrily round at de Rochefoucauld. 

“How comes it I was not told of this?” 

De Rochefoucauld shrugged his shoulders silently. 
The King turned again to Anthony. 

“Are you sure of this, sirrah?” 

“Perfectly sure. Sire.” 


DISPATCHES OF DUG DE VENDOME 155 


half-hour since, you sayT’ 

^‘Yes, Sire, as the clock struck three/’ 

Louis turned to Bloin. ‘^Send for Monsieur de 
Chamillart at once,” he said shortly. 

Anthony began to make an unobtrusive but rapid 
retreat. Louis stopped him with a gesture. 

‘^Wait, sirrah. This matter must be looked into.” 
Anthony stood back with a sinking heart. He had 
every reason to fear a second encounter with Chamil- 
lart; the Minister had a shrewd memory for faces — 
even a lackey could not hope to be overlooked. 


CHAPTER XVII 


THE OUTFACING OF CHAMILLART 

'T will make good against thee, face to face, 

What I have spoken.” 

F ive minutes elapsed while Louis fumed and 
fretted, Bloin and Rochefoucauld looked anxious, 
and Anthony tried to render himself as inconspicuous 
as possible. Then Chamillart appeared. 

To all outward seeming the Minister was quite undis- 
turbed by this peremptory summons ; but Anthony, gaz- 
ing at him anxiously from his remote corner, saw that 
his face was more flushed than was its wont, and a 
muscle in his cheek twitched unceasingly. He advanced 
quickly into the room. 

‘‘You sent for me. Sire?’’ he asked quietly. 

“How comes it, pray, that I had cause to^ send?” 
asked Louis sharply. “Am I so badly served that my 
Ministers choose their own time to make known to me 
the contents of my generals’ dispatches?” 

“Dispatches, Sire?” asked Chamillart, with excel- 
lently simulated bewilderment. 

“I am told that a courier arrived a half-hour since. 
’Tis to be presumed he does not come empty-handed.” 

Chamillart smiled slightly. “That rumour. Sire, 
runs ahead o’ the times. It is true I am in hourly 
expectation of dispatches from the Army, but they are 
not yet come to hand.” 

Anthony listened to Chamillart ’s placid lies with un- 
disguised admiration. Nevertheless, uncomfortable lit- 
tle shivers began to run down his spine and his hands 
156 


THE OUTFACING OF CHAMILLART 157 


felt damp and clammy as he nervously clenched and 
unclenched them. 

Louis turned on him sternly. ‘‘You there, sirrah. 
You hear Monsieur de Chamillart — what have you to 
sayT^ 

Chamillart turned to face Anthony and gave a little 
start of recognition. Anthony banished all expression 
from his face and stared stolidly back at the Minister. 

“Why, Your Majesty,’’ he mumbled, “if Monsieur 
de Chamillart says he has not the dispatches, without 
doubt he has them not. But he has the courier who 
brought them.” 

“The courier!” cried Louis angrily. “Where?” 

“In the little cabinet of Monsieur Grandclos,” an* 
swered Anthony, drawing a bow at a venture. 

Chamillart stepped forward. “Sire,” he said ear- 
nestly, “I swear to you I have no dispatches, and to 
the best of my knowledge there is no courier in the 
Palace. As for this fellow — he is mad.” 

Again Anthony felt the unpleasant shivers down his 
spine. 

“I’ faith! But I begin to think so,” said Louis 
angrily. “Hark’ee, sirrah, be careful how you seek to 
play with me! What reason have you for what you 
assert ? ’ ’ 

Now, had Anthony been indeed a lackey, or had he 
been even a man of ordinary prudence, at this juncture 
he would assuredly have set all his wits to work to find 
a retreat from the position in which he found himself, 
and would have accounted himself lucky to escape with 
life and liberty. But he was a man little enamoured 
of prudence, a man of high spirit and eager temper, and 
when he looked from the angry King to the placid, 
smiling face of the triumphant Minister, it seemed to 
him a most monstrous thing that he, Anthony Claverton, 
should meekly submit to have his plans overthrown and 


158 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


his character ruined by a lying, brow-beating French- 
man. Assuredly it was more than flesh and blood could 
stand. 

He lifted his head and looked frankly at the King. 

‘ ‘ Sire, I myself heard the courier ’s arrival announced 
to Monsieur de Chamillart while he was playing bil- 
liards, and I saw the dispatches in the hands of his sec- 
retary. ’ ’ 

Louis looked fretfully at Chamillart. The Minister 
turned and regarded Anthony with a slow smile, a smile 
which made that upholder of the truth suddenly mind- 
ful of the value of his own neck. 

‘^Sire/’ he said quietly, ‘‘such madness is danger- 
ous.” 

Louis sat a moment in silence, then he nodded slowly. 

“You speak truly, Chamillart. There is matter be- 
hind all this. He shall be placed under guard.” He 
reached out his hand towards the silver bell at his side. 

Anthony’s heart sank despairingly. He looked at the 
Cross hanging from its blue ribbon on the King’s breast 
and wondered whether it would be more satisfactory 
to be hanged for endeavouring to compass his own af- 
fairs or for interfering in the affairs of another. He 
was strongly tempted to snatch at the prize and run. 

Louis touched the bell, and Bloin, who had withdrawn 
on Chamillart ’s entrance, appeared in the doorway. 

“The Officer of the Guard,” said Louis shortly. 

But Bloin did not move. He was a privileged person, 
and he had no great love for Monsieur de Chamillart. 
Moreover, although he had withdrawn to the ante- 
room, he was fully aware of all that had passed. 

“Sire,” he said solemnly, “my Lord Bishop of Lan- 
gres waits without to know what news has been brought 
by the courier from the Due de Vendome.” 

For a moment there was dead silence; the smile 
faded from the face of Chamillart and the little muscle 


THE OUTFACING OF CHAMILLART 159 


in his cheek fell once more a-twitching. For he had 
in truth forgotten all about the Bishop. Mademoiselle 
Guernal and Grandclos he might silence by fear, An- 
thony by force, but my Lord Bishop of Langres was no 
man to he outfaced by lies. The Minister saw that con- 
cealment was no longer possible, and, like a wise man, 
on the instant changed his policy. 

He stepped quickly to Louis’ side. ‘‘Sire,” he said 
earnestly, “may I crave leave to speak with Your Maj- 
esty in private?” 

Louis looked at him suspiciously; but he had a very 
tender place in his heart for this Minister of State. 
After a moment’s hesitation he motioned to the others 
to withdraw. 

No one obeyed that gesture with more alacrity than 
Anthony Claverton. But as he crossed the threshold, 
Chamillart turned for a moment to look back at him, 
and he realised with a little shiver of anxiety that this 
Minister was not one to forget. 

As he passed through the ante-room, Bloin drew him 
aside and gave his shoulder a tap of approval. 

“Well done, mon brave. Certain who have held their 
heads high will now walk meekly for a while. But look 
to yourself. For the little Master, I will see to’t that 
he pardons and comprehends; but for Monsieur de 
Chamillart — no, he is not one to pardon or to forget. 
Look to yourself.” 

Anthony wasted little time in words. As quickly as 
possible he hurried from the neighbourhood of the Royal 
apartments and made his way towards the rooms occu- 
pied by the Duchess of Burgundy. For even though 
Chamillart be forced to make free confession of his 
carelessness, it was certain that so astute a Minister 
would not long remain under the Royal displeasure; 
those who would profit by Louis’ vexation must act at 
once. 


160 


THE KING'S BLUE RIBAND 


Arrived at the Duchess's apartments Anthony boldly 
asked for speech with Madame de Nogaret. He was not 
kept long in suspense. The discreet lady-in-waiting, 
her face alight with eagerness, hurried out to speak with 
him. 

Anthony saw at a glance that the Duchess had told 
his secret to her friend, but there was that in the face 
of Madame de Nogaret which claimed confidence, he 
did not fear betrayal at her hands. Very briefly he 
told her what had happened, passing quickly over the 
account of his share in the loss of the dispatches. She 
listened, nodding her head from time to time in quick 
comprehension of the situation. 

When he had ended she looked at him a moment in 
silence. 

‘‘Yes, Monsieur," she said at length. “To-night is 
Her Highness's opportunity, doubt not she will use it 
well. I will tell her all that has passed." She hesi- 
tated, then suddenly she placed her hand timidly on his 
arm. “Monsieur, you English are a brave race, and 
there are brave lovers among you. But — be advised. 
Leave her now ere ever she draw your heart from out 
your body and waste your life in furtherance of her 
will. She is not to blame, she can but be what Nature 
made her, but an you leave her not now, you will never 
leave her till leaving her be death." 

Anthony stared at her in amazement. “But, Mad- 
ame," he stammered, “I do not love Madame la 
Duchesse de Bourgogne." 

“Not love her!" she gasped. “Then why have you 
done this ? " 

Anthony shrugged his shoulders impatiently. “This 
— Madame? This is but a frolic in her service." 

The lady-in-waiting shook her head. “I do not un- 
derstand you," she murmured. “I think. Monsieur, 
you do not understand yourself." 


THE OUTFACING OF OHAMILLART 161 


But Anthony had small patience and less time for 
such empty vapourings. He crossed to an escritoire and 
wrote a few lines hurriedly on a piece of paper, which 
he folded carefully and handed to Madame de Nogaret. 

^‘Give her this, Madame, and tell her what I have told 
you. She will know how to use the occasion.^’ He 
bowed low and left her, hurrying away to receive a well- 
merited scolding from the Princesse d’Harcourt. But 
de Nogaret looked after him with anxious eyes ere she 
carried back her report to the Duchess. 

Marie Adelaide listened to the story with ever-increas- 
ing amazement. She clapped her hands with delight. 

’Tis assuredly the interposition of Providence. 
But,’’ she eyed de Nogaret demurely, ^‘how comes it 
Monsieur the Englishman mingles himself in our af- 
fairs?” 

do not know,” answered the lady-in-waiting 
slowly. ^‘He bade me give you this. Perchance ” 

The Duchess took the folded note and read it with 
sparkling eyes. It was very brief: 

‘Hf Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne will look be- 
hind the curtains in the Salon de la Guerre, she will 
without doubt find matter of moment to her enemies. 
It shall not be said that the English lackey must be 
taught a lesson in gratitude by the Mother of Prance’s 
Kings.” 

Then the little Duchess laughed softly and her face 
grew wondrously gentle as she folded the note and 
placed it in her bosom. She glanced at herself side- 
ways in the glass and sighed. 

But, looking up, she met the disapproving eyes of 
her lady-in-waiting and read many things therein. 

She gave a little conscious laugh, and she flushed a 
little, and then she drew herself up with a sudden dig- 
nity. 

‘‘Madame,” she said sternly, “I would have you bear 


162 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


in remembrance the motto of the gentlemen of Eng- 
land: ‘Honi soil qui mol y pense/ For my part, I 
think no shame to accept a loyal service in the spirit in 
which I am assured it is offered.” 

That evening the Court buzzed with excitement. 
Chamillart was not present at the King’s supper, and 
whispers of disgrace were rife. But the little Duchess 
was in high fettle. After Louis had retired, as was his 
wont, to the apartment of Madame de Maintenon, irre- 
pressible Marie Adelaide, much to the disgust of the 
Princess Palatine, started a game of ball in the Salon 
des Glaees and the adjoining rooms. 

And lo and behold! in three minutes the Duchess’s 
ball chanced to run behind the hangings of the window 
in the Salon de la Guerre; Monsieur de Nangis dived 
for it and drew forth instead a bundle of sealed papers. 
The excitement that ensued beggars description, but the 
little Duchess kept her head. With deep gravity she 
held out her hand for the dispatches. 

‘‘These must to His Majesty,” she said solemnly, and 
forthwith hurried to the apartment of Madame de 
Maintenon. 

A privileged visitor, she was at once admitted. Louis 
paced the room fretful and depressed, his wife sat and 
watched him with anxious eyes. Betwixt the gloomy 
couple danced the little Duchess. 

“Look, Sire! Look, ma Tante! See what I have 
found 1 ’ ’ 

Breathlessly she gasped forth her tale and laid the 
dispatches in the King’s hand. He saw that the seals 
were untouched and his face cleared. He made her 
repeat her tale and listened with bent brows. 

“But this is most insolent!” he cried. “Chamillart 
assured me the papers were mislaid in his cabinet. He 
has been guilty of shameless carelessness.” 

The Duchess took her courage in both hands. “Mon- 


THE OUTFACING OF CHAMILLART 163 


sieur de Chamillart is guilty of worse carelessness than 
this, Sire. Is it seemly that all the common folk of 
Paris be permitted to clack their tongues against your 
Royal grandson?’’ 

‘‘Ha! what is this?” asked Louis, flushing. 

Then Marie Adelaide sank down at his feet, and, 
resting her arms on the King’s knee, lifted her bewitch- 
ing face to his. And then and there she poured forth 
to him frankly the full tale of the indignities the Duke 
had endured, of the chansons in Paris, the letters of 
Alberoni, the secret cabal at Meudon and in the Palace 
itself. It was a daring act. Louis did not love com- 
plaints against his favourites; Madame de Maintenon 
watched in anxious dread. But the hour was well 
chosen. To the haughty King the loss of his dispatches 
behind a curtain smacked of insult to his Royal dignity, 
his pride was roused, his faith in Chamillart was com- 
pletely shaken. He listened quietly to the tale and 
then turned to his wife. 

“There is much to blame here. Chamillart should 
not have permitted this scaqdal. What think you?” 

Madame de Maintenon answered bravely: “I think. 
Sire, the Duke of Burgundy has been much defamed by 
General Vendome.” 

Louis looked somewhat taken aback, but his little 
daughter-in-law put a caressing hand on his. 

“Sire,” she pleaded, “sure, I shall be rewarded for 
playing courier so rarely. Surely Burgundy’s word 
shall receive equal credence with that of Monsieur de 
Vendome.” 

Louis was an old man, but the lover of La Yalliere 
never to his dying day learned to look unmoved on the 
face of a beautiful woman. He smiled, patted her 
cheek, and gave his promise. 

Now the rest of the account of the Duchess’s triumphs 
over her enemies, and how she and Madame de Main- 


164 * 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


tenon brought about the dismissal of Chamillart and 
the overthrow of Vendome, is it not written in the chron- 
icles of Monsieur le Due de St. Simon, for all the world 
to read? 

But the true account of the loss of the dispatches was 
known only to Anthony Claverton, Madame de Nogaret, 
and the little Duchess of Burgundy — and perchance, 
since the latter are women, to a score or so more! 


CHAPTER XVIII 


WITHIN SIGHT OF SUCCESS 

‘‘There be none of Beauty’s daughters 
With a magic like thee.” 

F or the next two days Anthony proved himself the 
most attentive lackey that the heart of mistress could 
desire. Not only did he show no inclination to neglect 
his duties, he displayed the strongest desire to remain 
rooted to his mistresses doorway. A policy of severe 
self-extinction was his cue. He went, it must be frankly 
confessed, in mortal fear of Chamillart. 

But if he expected the little Duchess to leave him to 
the management of his own affairs, he was much mis- 
taken. Ever since she had learned the true object of 
his masquerade, she had pined to have a finger in the 
pie. For three days she discreetly resisted the tempta- 
tion to send for Anthony — then she succumbed. 

When he came to her, obeying Madame de Nogaret’s 
reluctant summons, she made no mention of the affair 
of the dispatches, but greeted him with demure dignity. 

^‘Monsieur, you are still of a mind not to leave Ver- 
sailles until you have accomplished the purpose which 
brought you here?’’ she asked sternly. 

‘‘Madame, I may not change my purpose,” he an- 
swered. 

. “Then, Monsieur, the sooner you accomplish that pur- 
pose the better.” 

“But, alas! Madame,” he urged, “I have not yet per- 
fected my plan of action.” 

She shook her head and glanced at him with a con- 
165 


166 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


scious smile. fear, Monsieur, your wits expend them- 
selves upon the affairs of others. Now, since I hold it 
wise that this matter be quickly brought to some conclu- 
sion ere it becomes the common talk o ’ the Court, I have 
sent for you to — er — to give you my advice upon it.” 

Anthony looked up quickly. ‘‘You have something 
to propose, Madame?” he asked eagerly. 

She nodded. “Listen, Monsieur. You cannot hope 
to steal this jewel privily. The Royal apartments are 
too well guarded at night, and by day ’tis ever on His 
Majesty’s person. The only method by which you can 
hope to obtain it is — by force!” 

“But, Madame ” he stammered; “shall I use 

force — ^with — the King?” 

“No,” she answered promptly. “No, Monsieur, that 
is impossible.” 

“Then, Madame, how ?” 

She silenced him with a little gesture, and sat a few 
minutes, chin in hand, lost in thought. Then she rose, 
and crossing to the window stood with her back towards 
him, gazing out towards the woods of Marly. 

“Monsieur,” she said softly, “you have served me — 
I know at what risk to your own safety. I — I would 
not prove myself ungrateful. For you to attempt to 
gain possession of this jewel must mean death. And I 
— I would not have you die. Monsieur. Moreover,” she 
added, with a sudden change to her wonted gaiety of 
tone, “His Majesty has forbidden me to play high at 
lansquenet, and — life must have some distraction. And 
so” — she turned suddenly and faced him — “it is my in- 
tention, Monsieur, to assist you in the accomplishment 
of this affair.” 

Anthony’s face hardly expressed that degree of grati- 
tude called for by this offer. Marie Adelaide was, in 
truth, utterly adorable, but as companion in an affair 
of deadly danger she left much to be desired. 


WITHIN SIGHT OF SUCCESS 


167 


‘'But, Madame,’’ he urged with anxious tact, ‘T can- 
not endure that you should endanger your safety in my 
affairs.” 

have no intention of doing so,” she answered 
frankly. 

‘‘Then, Madame, how ?” 

“Is it possible, sir, you set no value on a woman’s 
wits ? ’ ’ 

She eyed him severely, but the dimple at the corner 
of her mouth belied her glance. 

“What do you purpose, Madame?” he asked doubt- 
fully. 

“ ’Tis simple enough. By some ruse I will persuade 
His Majesty to give the Cordon-bleu into my hands, and 
you shall then take it by force from me.” 

Anthony’s face fell. “I’ faith, ’tis simple-sounding. 
But how shall I make my escape after forcibly seizing 
it?” 

The little Duchess shrugged her shoulders lightly. 

“Ciel! Monsieur, I cannot be expected to think of 
every detail.” 

Anthony was in a quandary. The plan so glibly 
advocated was a manifest impossibility, and yet, de- 
liberately to refuse the help of the Duchess — no, as- 
suredly that was not to be thought of. Indeed he 
began to fear that if he gazed much longer into the 
brown eyes of Marie Adelaide, he would find himself 
agreeing to any wild scheme she might think proper to 
propose. 

He temporised. “By what means does Madame pur- 
pose herself to gain possession of this Royal jewel?” 

She laughed. “That holds no difficulty for me. If 
need be I shall take it by force. His Majesty will but 
laugh. But it is necessary that you be present, and 
therein lies the difficulty. Now, this is how I have de- 
vised it: His Majesty comes at times to sit with me — 


168 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


alone, or with Madame de Maintenon. You shall be 
hid by the window — so! I will take the Cross from 
His Majesty and carry it away from him. Then you 
shall spring out upon me, seize the Cross, leap from the 
casement, and make good your escape from the gardens. 
So you will be helped, the King go unscathed, and I 
shall be blameless. What say you?” 

Anthony gazed at her despairingly. ‘^Good Lord!” 
he muttered blankly. 

‘‘ ’Tis a very proper plot,” she urged eagerly. ^‘You 
know His Majesty will ever have the casement open; 
’tis but an easy drop on to the terrace. A horse could 
be tethered in the wood by Trianon. ’ And oh. Monsieur 
— the excitement of such an escape!” 

Anthony gazed down into the shining brown eyes, 
full of mischievous challenge, at the little figure all alive 
with that reckless gaiety of hers so dangerously infec- 
tious. He wavered. It must sadly be confessed that in 
the presence of the little Duchess, this lusty bachelor 
showed himself the weakest of men. 

Luckily, Madame de Nogaret introduced a timely 
spirit of prudence into the scene. 

‘‘And what of the captains of the Guard at the door?” 
she enquired drily; “and the Swiss Guards on the ter- 
race? What of a lackey running hot-foot through the 
gardens, a Cordon-bleu in his hand ? Madame — Madame 
— bethink you.” 

The Duchess’s face fell. “Oh, Nogaret!” she sighed, 
“what a slave you are to detail.” 

But Anthony had recovered his wits. 

“I fear she speaks truth, Madame — the scheme is im- 
possible. In any other affair I wouldn’t scruple to 
match myself against the whole of the Gardes Suisses if 
it pleased you, but in this matter of running away, why, 
look you, Madame — I’ve had such plaguy little prac- 
tice.” 


WITHIN SIGHT OF SUCCESS 169 

A soft laugh rippled up from her white throat. Never- 
theless, she was clearly disappointed. 

‘‘You cannot hope to effect your purpose, Monsieur, 
without some little risk,” she said scornfully. 

‘ ‘ But I should prefer not to involve others in my dan- 
ger,” he answered promptly. 

She sighed. “Ah, Monsieur, I had hoped to help 
you.” 

“Why, and so you can, Madame,” he answered 
quickly. “My purpose is this: Bloin is my very good 
friend, I trust in time he may promote me to a place 
among the valets of the Inner Apartments. Then, either 
when His Majesty is disrobing, or perchance during the 
Grande Entree some morning, I shall find occasion to 
carry out my purpose.” 

Her face fell. “That is not vastly exciting.” 

“Madame,” he answered drily, “my aim in this mat- 
ter is not to find a substitute for lansquenet.” 

She laughed a little and blushed a little. “But how 
should I help you there ? ^ ’ 

“Why, Madame, a word from you to Bloin, or per- 
chance to the King himself, will hasten my appoint- 
ment as lackey to His Majesty. And time is very pre- 
cious to me.” 

She pouted. “Is that all? Monsieur, when much is 
offered I hold it beggarly to ask so little.” And she 
looked at him strangely with her dark eyes. 

But Anthony did not trust himself to meet her glance ; 
he stared resolutely over her shoulder, and he answered 
her steadily: 

“There is but one thing I have to ask of Madame la 
Duchesse de Bourgogne, and in giving that, she gives me 
more than any man deserves.” 

The little Duchess drew a step nearer. She put out 
her small white hand and laid it gently on his sleeve. 

“Well, Monsieur,” she said softly, “well?” 


170 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


Still Anthony did not look at her, but his arm trem- 
bled a little at the touch of that small hand. » 

‘‘Madame,’’ he said huskily, “I ask but this: that 
should the Duchess of Burgundy ever find herself in 
need of a friend, she will remember there lives one in 
the world whose service claims no reward.” 

There was a moment’s silence. Then Marie Adelaide 
withdrew her hand and moved away. Her cheeks 
were flushed and her brows wrinkled in pretty 
plexity. 

Anthony followed her with his eyes, and for a full 
minute this honest gentleman and whilom ignorer of 
feminine charms was obsessed with a mad and utterly 
reprehensible desire to put his arms boldly about this 
adorable little Duchess and carry her off. 

When Marie Adelaide spoke again, her voice was cool 
and matter-of-fact. 

“Yes, Monsieur, your scheme is the better devised. 
And as I hold it well that the affair be speedily con- 
cluded, I will commend you to His Majesty’s service 
to-night.” 

Anthony controlled his voice to answer quietly: 

“I am indeed your debtor, Madame.” 

He bowed low at her little gesture of dismissal, and 
strode to the door. 

“Monsieur!” 

The word was but a little fluttering whisper. 

He turned. The Duchess stood in the centre of the 
room, one white hand outstretched towards him, her 
large eyes shining with an eager light. 

“Monsieur,” she said very softly, “I — I thank you.” 

With two strides Anthony was beside her. He knelt 
and kissed the outstretched hand. His heart beat 
wildly at the gentle pressure of the slender fingers upon 
his. 

“I think,” said the little Duchess apropos of nothing, 


WITHIN SIGHT OF SUCCESS 171 

‘^the gentlewomen of England are to be envied in their 
lovers. ’ ’ 

Then at last Anthony took courage to look into her 
eyes; his own twinkled with an answering smile. 

‘‘It may be, Madame,’^ he said drily, ^'if they look to 
it their lovers do not visit Versailles.’’ 

He left her then, with that low sweet laugh of hers 
ringing in his ears. But as he strode back to his duties 
his face was very grave, for he thought on the words 
of de Nogaret and knew that the sooner he could ac- 
complish his mission and return to England, the better 
it would be both for his honour and his loyalty. 

The Princesse d’Harcourt was at cards, and had not 
noted the prolonged absence of her equerry. Her card- 
parties were a source of intense amusement to Anthony. 
It was her custom to cheat regularly with the utmost 
unconcern, and the majority of her opponents followed 
her example. The game was not without excitement to 
the onlooker. 

Anthony took up his post at the doorway, from which 
he could command a view of the table, but instantly he 
stepped discreetly back again into the shadows. For 
among the guests was Maulevrier. 

Since the evening of the Fete, this too ardent lover 
had been confined to his bed ; this was the first occasion 
upon which he had appeared in public. Now the night 
of their meeting had been tolerably dark, their encounter 
brief, and considerably bewildering for Maulevrier; 
nevertheless, Anthony was nervous. For, despite the 
darkness, the courtier could not have failed to note his 
livery and realise that his assailant was but a lackey; 
and in the heat of the moment Anthony had clearly given 
him to understand that he held him little better than a 
scoundrel, thereby exposing himself to recognition by 
his voice as well as by his face. 

That Maulevrier was reputed almost a madman was 


172 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


small consolation ; he would be the less likely to be held 
from hurling accusations against the lackey through 
fear of the danger of his own betrayal. 

All this flashed rapidly through Anthony’s thoughts. 
On an instant he resolved that the only thing for him 
to do was again to risk the Princess’s fury and absent 
himself. He was slipping quietly past the door, when 
the Princess suddenly caught sight of him and cried his 
name: 

‘‘Antoine! Antoine! What is that pestilent lackey 
about? Antoine! come here this instant.” 

With a despairing shrug, Anthony entered the room 
and crossed to his mistress’s side. She signed to him to 
fetch her snuff-box, but when he returned with it she 
was intent on the game, he was obliged to wait patiently 
at her elbow, divided from Maulevrier only by the width 
of the card-table. 

But Maulevrier was intent upon his cards; the pres- 
ence of a lackey was little like to rouse his attention; 
his gaze rested as vacantly upon Anthony as though 
the latter had been an empty chair. 

Then suddenly, the Princess asked Anthony a ques- 
tion. 

He answered her softly, making his reply as brief as 
possible but short though it was, it served. At sound 
of his voice with its slight foreign accent, Maulevrier 
started and looked up. He stared for a moment flxedly 
at Anthony, then sprang to his feet with a snarl of 
rage and levelled an accusing finger at the guilty 
lackey. 

“So it was you, was it?” he cried furiously. “Ha, 
insolent villain. I will have you whipped at the cart’s 
tail for this.” 

“Sacre Dieu, Maulevrier! Whatever is the matter?” 
cried the bewildered Princess. 

“This saucy lackey of yours dared to lay his filthy 


WITHIN SIGHT OF SUCCESS 


173 


hands upon me, on the eve of the Fete, Madame, and 
tried to drown me in the fountain of Minerva,’’ shouted 
Maulevrier, stammering with rage. 

'‘Tut, nonsense!” said the Princess impatiently. 
"You are dreaming. Get on with the game.” 

"I swear to you it is the truth,” shouted Maulevrier 
savagely. "The rascal cannot deceive me.” 

Now had Anthony been thoroughly competent to play 
the lackey, he would doubtless have fallen upon his 
knees, and whined for pardon ; but he did no such thing. 
He stood stolidly beside his mistress, holding out her 
snuff-box, and took no more notice of Maulevrier than 
if he had been a buzzing fly, thereby greatly adding 
to the fury of the outraged courtier. 

The Princess looked from him to his accuser, and 
shrugged her shoulders. "Well, well, I will have him 
whipped,” she said consolingly. "It is you to play, 
Maulevrier. There is my stake.” 

"But — but — the rascal tried to drown me!” shrieked 
Maulevrier, staring angrily at the Princess’s unmoved 
countenance. 

"Yes, yes; he shall be soundly whipped to-morrow. 
You shall see to’t yourself. Now, for Heaven’s sake, 
sit down and play.” 

Maulevrier hesitated. But he was prudent enough to 
forbear angering the Princess further; this protegee of 
the Maintenon was not without influence at Court. Re- 
luctantly he resumed his seat. 

"I have your promise that the rascal shall not escape 
punishment,” he persisted. 

"Bless the man!” cried the Princess impatiently, 
"have I not said I hand the fellow over to you to- 
morrow to do with as you will, so only you leave a little 
life in him.” 

Maulevrier was satisfied. He grinned malevolently 
across at Anthony’s impassive face. "Good, Madame. 


174 THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 

I will see to it the rascal learns what it costs to lay his 
hand on a gentleman. ’ ’ 

Now Anthony, though he would not pleasure his 
enemy by one sign of dismay, viewed the prospect before 
him with horror. He had seen a whipping administered 
to a disobedient lackey, and the recollection was mon- 
strous unpleasing; yet he was well aware that such a 
castigation was but child’s play to the punishment he 
might expect at the hands of Maulevrier. Only one 
channel of escape remained open to him — however well- 
deserved the punishment, no courtier would dare to 
chastise a lackey in the service of the King. 

All evening, as he stood attentive to the orders of the 
Princess and her guests, he was fuming with impatience. 
Would the Duchess of Burgundy remember her promise? 
Would the appointment be made in time? By what 
means could he move Bloin to act speedily in his in- 
terest? These and a dozen other questions surged 
through his brain, while he raved at his impotence to 
help himself. 

The afternoon seemed an eternity, but at length the 
game ended and the guests departed, he was left alone 
with his mistress and her women. 

The Princess had cheated to some purpose, she sat 
counting her gains in high good humour. 

‘‘So, Antoine, you have been in mischief, eh?” she 
said placidly. “What is this you have done to M. de 
Maulevrier ? ’ ’ 

“No more than he deserved, Madame,” he answered 
surlily. His nerves and his temper alike were on edge. 

“Tut! Insolence! You shall have your deserts to- 
morrow, I promise you.” 

Anthony grimaced and turned away. Annette, the 
stout country maid whom the Princess had recently en- 
gaged, followed him with pitying eyes. So overcome was 
she by her sympathy that her tears blinded her; she 


WITHIN SIGHT OF SUCCESS 175 

tripped over her mistress’s skirt, and upset the basin of 
water she carried over the knees of the Princess. 

With a cry of rage the latter sprang to her feet, 
seized her cane and proceeded to belabour the wretched 
maid, interspersing her blows with shrieks and curses. 
The scene was a familiar one, but to-night it was more 
than Anthony could endure. He strode up to the 
Princess, laid one restraining hand on her shoulder, and 
with the other seized the cane and held it in a grasp of 
iron, while he motioned to the maid to make good her 
escape. 

If her chair had jumped up and kicked her the Princess 
could not have been more astonished. She stared at 
him with her mouth wide open, and her hands dropped 
to her side. 

Anthony laid the cane on the table, and drew back 
with a bow. ‘‘Your pardon,” he said, with grave 
politeness. “Madame will exhaust herself.” 

The Princess sank into a chair and gasped: “Why! 
Why, you insolent rascal 1” 

Anthony steadily returned her gaze. “Madame is 
surely unwise to heat her body so greatly on the eve of 
supper,” he urged stolidly. “There is danger of apo- 
plexy.” 

But such conduct on the part of her lackey was be- 
yond the understanding of the Princess. She shook 
her head helplessly. “Ma foi, Antoine, but you are 
most strange.” 

“Is it strange that I should be careful for Madame ’s 
welfare?” he asked politely. 

The Princess eyed him narrowly, searching his face 
for a vestige of a smile. But Anthony, despite his 
mockery, had never felt less like laughter. His gravity 
reassured her. 

“So, so!” she muttered. “You are a good lad, An- 
toine, but you must learn Tis not for you to interfere. 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


176 

Call Annette; you yourself shall give her the whipping 
she deserves.’’ 

‘^Madame he stammered aghast. 

‘‘Annette;’’ cried the Princess impatiently. 

The maid crept back into the room, her frightened 
eyes fixed on Anthony. 

“Beat her soundly, now,” said the Princess laconic- 
ally, handing him her cane. 

Anthony took it. He had much ado not to lay it 
across his mistress’s shoulders. He seized Annette by 
the arm, and swinging her round, so that he stood be- 
tween her and the Princess, made great pretence of 
beating her soundly, but in reality received the blows on 
his own arm. 

“Cry out! Howl!” he muttered to the astonished girl. 

Accordingly she set up a great wailing. Anthony 
flourished his stick and the Princess applauded. 

Into the midst of this extraordinary scene suddenly 
walked Bloin. He stared in amazement. 

Anthony dropped Annette’s arm and gazed anxiously 
at the valet. “What is it?” he muttered, his heart 
bounding high with hope. 

Bloin grinned and favoured him with a friendly nod. 
He turned to the Princess. 

“Madame, His Majesty bids me ask you to spare to 
him your English lackey, Antoine; for services which 
it seems he has rendered to Madame la Duchesse de 
Bourgogne, His Majesty is willing I should promote the 
lad to be servitor in the Inner Apartments.” 

The Princess stared. “But, Bloin — my lackey!” 

“His Majesty’s desire, Madame,” answered Bloin 
promptly. 

There was no more to be said. Louis’ will was law 
to all in the Palace. The Princess groaned. 

“He is the flrst lackey I have ever had who did not 
deserve hanging,” she said resignedly. “Well, Antoine, 


WITHIN SIGHT OF SUCCESS 177 

you must go serve His Majesty. I know how amazing 
sorry you will be to leave me.’’ 

Bloin winked grossly at this statement, but Anthony 
knelt with a good grace to kiss the somewhat dirty 
hand extended to him; so joyous was he at this sudden 
release, he could have found it in his heart to speak 
kindly, even of this most unpleasing and despised 
Princess. 

As he followed Bloin dutifully towards the central 
wing of the Palace, where lay the Koyal apartments, the 
valet began to laugh consumedly. 

‘‘Foi d’un abricot, Antoine! But what have you 
done to win the favour of Madame de Bourgogne? Is 
it all to the count of the affair with Monsieur de Chamil- 
lart? She sent for me an hour agone, and says she: 
‘Monsieur Bloin, if the foreign lackey Antoine be not 
appointed to the King’s service by nine o’ the clock 
to-night, I shall count you no good friend of mine.’ I 
tell her the Koyal service is full, the Princess will not 
lightly spare you — not a word will she hear. ‘Fie, 
Monsieur Bloin, are not you Governor of the Palace?’ 
cries she. ‘And have you not wits enow to convince a 
dozen Princesses d’Harcourt?’ So — it is done, and 
you are mine.” 

“Then the King ” stammered Anthony. 

“Ciel! Do you dream the little Master cares who 
sweeps his chamber? But it was necessary, you com- 
prehend, to make a little fiction to the Princess, or she 
would not let you go. Foi d’un orange! but the little 
Duchess will laugh to hear o’t.” 

Anthony cared little how the matter had been ar- 
ranged, so he was quit of his late service. He hugged 
himself with delight at his escape. 

That evening he supped with his new patron and 
advanced still further in his favour, for Bloin was a 
jovial heart and Anthony was possessed of a fair stock 


178 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


of good stories, and a ready laugh for another’s jests. 
The future indeed was full of promise. He had escaped 
the malevolence of Maulevrier, the degrading service of 
the Princess; he had proved the friendship of the little 
Duchess, and at last he saw clear before him the at- 
tainment of his quest. He went to rest at midnight, 
glorying in his success. 

And then that malicious jade Fortune, smiling 
mockingly at his joyous anticipations, turned her 
wheel ! 


CHAPTER XIX 


NEMESIS 

'The wheel has come full circle; I am here.” 

W HETHER Bloin had indulged too freely at sup- 
per with his protege or whether such hearty 
laughter had proved too exhausting, certain it was that 
the following morning found him confined to his bed 
with a sharp attack of ‘‘colic/’ and his duties passed 
into the hands of Flabert, his second-in-command. 
Louis was annoyed, he disapproved heartily of any ill- 
nesses among his entourage. But this curious King 
had a kindlier heart for his valets than for any other 
human beings; Bloin was speedily forgiven and the 
business of the levee continued as usual. 

At ten o’clock the King finished his audiences and 
Went to Mass, and a temporary peace settled down upon 
the Royal apartments. Anthony’s duties kept him 
in the (Eil-de-Boeuf, near the door of the King’s room. 
Suddenly Flabert came out of the Cabinet and 
beckoned to him; he held an enamelled snuff-box in his 
hand. 

“I think this belongs to M. de Chamillart,” he said 
hurriedly. “He must have dropped it at the Grande 
Entree. Take it to his apartments and ask if it be 
his. ’ ’ 

With reluctant steps Anthony turned upon his 
errand. He had no desire to bring himself under the 
notice of Monsieur de Chamillart, even though engaged 
upon so harmless an errand as the return of a snuff-box. 
He resolved to venture no nearer the lion ’s den than the 
179 


180 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


outer door of his suite, and there hand the box to one 
of the Minister’s lackeys. But Nemesis hovered behind 
him and escape was barred. 

It so chanced that Anthony reached the door of the 
salon just as the Minister was coming out. Chamillart, 
with the sharp glance which overlooked nothing, no- 
ticed the shoulder-knot that betokened him one of the 
Royal lackeys and beckoned to him to follow him into 
his cabinet. 

There was no help for it. The Minister looked pre- 
occupied, and Anthony trusted he might pass unrecog- 
nised. He stated his message briefly, laid the snuff- 
box beside Chamillart, and began discreetly to retreat 
towards the door. 

^‘Wait!” 

Chamillart ’s voice rang out harshly. Anthony stood 
still, with a sudden sinking of his heart. The Minister 
flung himself into a chair and beckoned to the lackey 
to come nearer. 

‘^We have met before, sirrah,” he said coldly. 

‘‘Monsieur stammered Anthony, with well- 

simulated bewilderment. 

Chamillart drummed his Angers impatiently upon 
the table. 

“None of that!” he said sharply. “You under- 
stand me well enough. Shall I tell you where we first 
met?” 

Anthony saw the dissimulation was useless; he faced 
Chamillart steadily. 

“I think. Monsieur, it was in His Majesty’s Cabinet.” 

“No,” answered the Minister coldly. “No, sirrah. 
That was our second meeting.” 

Anthony’s heart gave a sudden leap of fear. Chamil- 
lart leaned forward with a little smile. “Your memory 
is short. I will recall to you the time and place of our 
first meeting. It was in the Salon de la Guerre, three 


NEMESIS 


181 


minutes after the theft of my dispatches, and within 
three feet of the spot where they were discovered. I 
think you have wit enough to understand me, sirrah.’’ 

Anthony understood only too well; that which he 
had feared and yet had refused to think of as possible 
had come to pass. He moistened his lips once or twice 
and racked his brains vainly for a reply. Chamillart 
leaned back in his chair and watched him with a grim 
smile. 

‘‘Well, sirrah,” he said at length. ‘'Have you no 
lies ready for the occasion?” 

Anthony flushed. “I do not lie. Monsieur,” he said 
coldly. “But I venture to submit that the fact that 
I was passing through the Salon de la Guerre so 
soon after the theft is too slender a proof against 
me.” 

“Proof!” laughed the Minister. “Do I need proof? 
Was it not you who carried first news of the loss to 
His Majesty? I have proof enough to hang you, Mas- 
ter Lackey, if I be so minded.” 

Anthony made no reply. He realised that he was in 
as tight a corner as ever man escaped from; he would 
not waste his wits in a futile battle of words. 

Chamillart nodded complacently. “I have sought 
you, Master Thief, but among five hundred lackeys ’tis 
no easy matter to pick out the one. Now Fate has 
given you into my hand.” He sat up suddenly and 
his manner changed. 

“Listen to me, sirrah,” he said sharply. “Who is 
behind you in this affair?” 

“Monsieur?” 

“Pah! ’Tis not to be conceived a lackey would risk 
his skin in stealing dispatches if he were not set on by 
others. Who is your paymaster in this affair?” 

“No one. Monsieur.” 

Again the Minister drummed angrily on the table. 


182 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


^‘You are lying to me, sirrah. Answer directly. Who 
set you on to rob meT’ 

‘‘No one, Monsieur,’’ repeated Anthony doggedly. 

Chamillart glared at him furiously. ‘^What! You 
refuse to tell me. You dare?” 

‘/Yes, Monsieur.” 

“I can have you hanged for this, sirrah.” 

Anthony’s heart sank. But he had wits enough to 
know that he does not threaten who has power to fulfil 
his threats. He faced the Minister steadily. 

“I do not think it, Monsieur. Bloin will go surety 
that I have done nothing to deserve punishment.” 

Chamillart hesitated. Absurd though it may appear, 
the King’s valets were powers to be reckoned with. 
Even Princes of the blood sought their favour, much 
more than a Minister whose position at the time was 
threatened on all sides. He had a dangerous enemy 
in Madame de Maintenon, he could not risk making 
another of the King’s valet; and Bloin was very jealous 
of his own rule over his lackeys, Chamillart doubted 
his power to bring Anthony to punishment on so slender 
an accusation. Moreover, he had no wish to reopen the 
matter of the mislaid dispatches; it was imperative 
that Louis should be allowed to forget such carelessness. 
So he hesitated, staring back at the steady eyes of this 
amazing lackey who refused to be terrorised by threats. 

But the spirit of Anthony’s ill-fortune hovered near 
and whispered in the Minister’s ear. A sudden thought 
crossed his mind. He touched the bell at his elbow and 
a lackey appeared in the doorway. 

“Ask Monsieur de Maulevrier to do me the honour 
to wait on me here.” 

Then, indeed, did Anthony realise that his fate was 
sealed. 

There was deep silence in the room while they waited 
the arrival of Maulevrier, Chamillart leaned back in 


NEMESIS 


183 


his chair and placidly trimmed his nails. Anthony 
clenched his fists together and waited in a kind of 
dogged despair for the end to come. 

Maulevrier arrived at last, hurrying in breathlessly 
to wait upon the Minister. He started at sight of An- 
thony, and scowled at him savagely. 

‘‘Monsieur de Maulevrier,’’ said Chamillart coolly. 
“Last night you told me a strange tale of a lackey who 
attacked you in the gardens on the evening of the Fete. 
You will do me a favour if you will recognise in this 
fellow the rascal guilty of that act.” 

Maulevrier stared at him in bewilderment. “But, 
Monsieur,” he stammered, “this is the fellow himself.” 

“What!” The Minister swung round in his chair 
and stared at Anthony. “By heavens!” he said 
quietly. “But you are a daring fellow.” 

Anthony drew himself up. “I am the King’s serv- 
ant,” he said defiantly. 

Chamillart brought his fist down on the table with 
a blow that made the china inkstand totter. 

“The King’s servant!” he cried fiercely. “Yes, 
Messer Insolence, and on the strength of that I doubt 
not you count to escape punishment. You swagger it 
rarely and outface lesser men. But you cannot play 
that game with me. The King’s servant! Shall His 
Majesty be served by thieves and assassins? Bloin 
himself will not dare to defend a lackey whom I accuse 
of raising his hand against one of the King ’s ' guests. 
And you know 

There was dead silence; then Chamillart leaned for- 
ward towards Anthony. “Perhaps, sirrah,” he said 
mockingly, “you are more inclined now to answer those 
questions I put to you a few minutes since.” 

Anthony faced him steadily. “No, Monsieur,” he 
answered quietly. 

“What! You will not speak?” 


184 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


‘^No, Monsieur.” 

Chamillart turned to Maulevrier. 

‘‘Monsieur de Maulevrier, you will do me a favour 
if you will see this rascal thrashed within an inch of his 
life and driven out from the precincts of the Palace.” 

An hour later a man in tom and bloodstained cloth- 
ing, his face livid and seamed with suffering, wsls flung 
out of the gates of Versailles. Giddy, fainting, half- 
blinded with pain, he staggered along the road to Paris. 
The sun beat fiercely down on his uncovered head, the 
dust stirred by his shuffling feet choked his parched 
throat. He struggled on doggedly for half a mile and 
then his strength deserted him. He crept aside to a 
little thicket of alders bordering the road and incon- 
tinently fainted away. 


CHAPTEE XX 


THE GRATITUDE OF THE LITTLE DUCHESS 

‘‘When age furrows faces 
^Tis time to be wise.” 


W HEN Anthony came to himself he found his 
head pillowed on something soft, and a can of 
sparkling water held to his lips. He stared upwards 
vaguely into a pair of round black eyes, gazing down 
anxiously at his face. Slowly recognition dawned. 

^‘Annette!” he muttered stupidly. ‘‘What is it, An- 
nette?’’ 

“Grace a Dieu! You are not dead, Antoine,” she 
cried joyously. “I have prayed the Blessed Virgin 
you might not be dead.” 

“But — I don’t understand — ^where is the Princesse 
d’Harcourt?” 

“Pfui! Don’t speak of her! The viper! Has she 
not beaten me day in and day out till my flesh is green ? 
Has she not given you over to this? May the devil 
carry her off! But she knows now what ’tis to be 
beaten, I’ll warrant.” 

Anthony stared at her with dazed looks; slowly he 
recollected what had befallen him. 

“What have you done?” he muttered. 

Annette gave a croak of triumph. “Ah, ha! I 
turned the key on her, gave her a good drubbing till 
she howled again, and took my leave. I’ve done with 
service.” 

“But — but how came you here?” 

“I followed you, Antoine,” she answered shyly. 
185 


186 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


‘H saw them drive you away and I looked to be able 
to help you. Now well away to Paris and have no 
more o’ such service.” 

Anthony made an effort to rise, but fell back with 
a groan. He looked up at her with a twisted smile. 

‘‘Can’t be done, my girl,” he muttered. “Let me 
be. Be off to Paris before they catch you.” 

“Pah!” answered Annette scornfully. “I am safe 
enow. Lie still. My brother is carting in the gardens. 
He will be here anon and drive us both into Paris. Lie 
still and leave it to me.” 

Anthony was only too ready to obey her; his brain 
was too tired to think; every movement was an agony. 
It seemed to him very blessed to leave the direction 
of his affairs in the hands of this stalwart, black-eyed 
wench and to slip back into a blissful unconsciousness. 

He knew little of what followed; he was conscious 
of fierce stabs of pain when he was lifted into the cart, 
and then what seemed to him hours of agony as he 
jolted over the rough road to Paris. He fainted again 
before his journey’s end and knew no more till he found 
himself in bed in a low-roofed attic, with Annette 
watching jealously beside him, and Annette’s brother, 
a facsimile of the girl, shaking his head over him from 
a discreet distance. 

In truth, Anthony’s good fortune had not altogether 
deserted him. He had fallen into honest hands. They 
found his money in the belt he wore next to his skin, 
but though the discovery terrified them not a little, 
they never dreamed of taking advantage of his weakness 
to enrich themselves. They tended him wisely; these 
poor peasants had learned by sad experience the best 
treatment for such a case as his, and though their 
method was rough and hurt “a diahW’ it was mightily 
effective. In a week he was almost himself again, still 
stiff and sore, it is true, and weak after his fever, but 


GRATITUDE OF THE LITTLE DUCHESS 187 


able none the less to go once more about his business and 
take stock of his affairs. 

But the stronger Anthony grew in body the more 
despairing and gloomy were his thoughts. For it 
seemed to him now that all was lost. Certainly he was 
further than ever from success. A marked man, he no 
longer dared show his face at the Palace, and to pene- 
trate secretly into the Royal apartments seemed as im- 
possible as to attempt to rob Louis of his Cordon-bleu 
while he walked in the gardens or drove in the Marly 
Woods. He could devise no scheme whereby success 
seemed even remotely possible. 

As soon as he could walk he had gone to the tavern 
in the Rue Royale, where he found his mails still await- 
ing his return, and his horse eating its head off in the 
stable. He paid a generous reckoning and then re- 
turned with his recovered possessions to take up his 
abode with Annette and Jehan in their house near the 
Rue du Temple. Annette’s manner had changed subtly 
since she discovered the discharged lackey was a 
gentleman of wealth and possessions. She ceased to 
call him ‘‘Antoine” and to tutoyer^’ him, but her 
devotion was unshaken. 

In their little house off the Rue du Temple the days 
passed slowly, bringing ever new health and courage 
to the injured man, but not a whit of new inspiration 
to solve the problem that day and night haunted his 
thoughts. 

He was sitting one morning in the window, staring 
gloomily down the narrow street, while Annette, busy 
mixing a pudding at a table near by, shook her head 
sadly over his despondency. Suddenly he sprang to 
his feet with a cry and seized her arm so sharply that 
the basin she was holding fell with a crash to the 
ground. 

‘ ‘ Look, Annette ! ” he cried eagerly. ‘ ‘ Is not that 


188 THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 

Madame de Nogaret? There, entering the house yon- 
der ? ’ ’ 

Annette glanced out of the window and nodded 
placidly. “ ’Tis very like. Her foster-mother lives 
there. She visits her sometimes. Madame George 
washes the laces of Madame la Duchesse.’’ 

In an instant Anthony was out of the house and 
across the street. Regardless of the amazed exclama- 
tion of Madame George’s granddaughter, who sat sewing 
in the doorway, he strode straight over the threshold 
and into the company of Madame de Nogaret and her 
astonished foster-mother. 

Madame de Nogaret gave a cry of delight at sight 
of him. 

“Monsieur! You! Ah, hut this is welcome news 
for Madame la Duchesse; she has been desolated con- 
cerning you.” 

“I was driven out of the Palace, Madame,” he an- 
swered briefly. “It was impossible to make my fare- 
wells.” 

She nodded, eyeing him with a look of pity. “We 
know all. Monsieur, and we know why you suffered. 
Madame la Duchesse has sought everywhere for 
news of you. She — she would fain reward your serv- 
ices.” 

Anthony’s eyes brightened. “Madame, for Heaven’s 
sake, implore her to devise means by which I may re- 
turn to Versailles. Else am I quite undone. Entreat 
her, Madame.” 

She smiled a little sadly at his eagerness. “Mon- 
sieur, Monsieur! Will you not be advised? Leave 
France ere it be too late. ’ ’ 

“I cannot, Madame,” he cried despairingly. “At 
all costs I must return to Versailles. Ah, for pity’s 
sake, don’t fail me.” 

Either his entreaties or the traces of suffering still 


GRATITUDE OF THE LITTLE DUCHESS 189 


left upon his face moved her. She nodded a reluctant 
assent. 

will carry to Madame la Duchesse your entreaties. 
Rest assured you shall hear from her. Where may you 
be spoken with?’’ 

lodge at the house of Jehan Prudhomme, yonder. 
I will not move thence till I hear. Heaven bless you, 
Madame.” 

He turned to Madame George and courteously made 
his excuses, then he left the house as quickly as he had 
come. Madame de Nogaret looked after him anxiously. 
He was changed; there was a touch of reckless despair 
in his manner that frightened her sober spirit to darkest 
forebodings. 

Anthony passed the next few days in the wildest al- 
ternations of hope and despair, but on the third morn- 
ing Madame de Nogaret herself brought him the de- 
sired message. 

‘‘She wishes to see you this evening, Monsieur. Ride 
to the Porte du Petit Parc at nine o’clock and leave 
your horse tethered there. We will see to it that the 
gate shall be unguarded. Enter the Palace by the little 
door on the North Terrace and so by the back stairway 
to the Duchess’s apartments. You understand?” 

“But, Madame,” he stammered, “is there no dan- 
ger — ^for her? The Palace spies !” 

She laughed. “Bloin’s spies do not interfere with us. 
Monsieur. All is safe.’^ 

Anthony made his preparations carefully. He knew 
not what plan the Duchess would propose, but under- 
stood that it might well prevent his return to Paris. 
He therefore packed his light mails and gave a sub- 
stantial sum of money to Jehan, in return for his 
sister’s services, knowing that Annette would refuse 
to accept a penny. He bade no farewell to the latter, 
but all that day, when he had occasion to speak with 


190 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


her, his voice was full of gentleness, and I think she 
understood. 

He dressed himself with care. When a man has been 
always forced to appear before the most adorable lady 
in Christendom in the hideous livery of a lackey, it is 
little to be wondered if he takes some pains with his 
appearance when freed from servitude. 

He reached the Porte du Petit Parc punctually at 
nine o’clock and found the gate open and unguarded. 
He stole quietly up the twilit gardens to the little terrace 
door. The Duchess’s waiting-woman was there to re- 
ceive him. A curious feeling of nausea came over him 
when he slipped inside and smelt the familiar air of the 
Palace; every recollection of that last hour of horror 
he had spent within those walls sickened him. Never- 
theless, as he followed Suzette’s trim figure up the dark 
stairway all thought of fear left him, his whole being 
was possessed by a burning desire to be once more in 
the presence of the little Duchess. 

Another minute and he was with her, gazing into 
those wonderful eyes, which now were wells of tender- 
est pity as they read on his face traces of the sufferings 
he had endured. 

‘‘Monsieur!” she sighed pitifully, and then again: 
“Ah, Monsieur!” with a little catch in her breath; and 
yet once again, in the tenderest, sorrowfullest, most en- 
dearing little whisper she sighed: “For me!” 

Truly she was adorable, this little Duchess! 

Then she looked him up and down quickly and a 
little smile of pleasure and surprise brightened her eyes. 
Anthony noted it, and was glad, with a foolish, boyish 
gladness, that he had donned his most becoming coat. 

“I find matter for rejoicing. Monsieur,” she said 
roguishly, “that the lackey Antoine is banished. ’Twas 
a role sadly confining to a gentleman.” 

“In truth, he proved himself a witless rascal,” an- 


GRATITUDE OF THE LITTLE DUCHESS 191 


swered Anthony drily. ‘^And received his deserts for 
mingling in affairs that did not concern him.’’ 

She looked at him curiously. ‘‘And so he was driven 
from the Palace when success was at hand. ’ ’ She lifted 
her eyes to his suddenly, with a look of mischievous 
challenge. “Does he regret it, Monsieur?” 

Anthony’s voice trembled a little as he made reply, 
looking down into the brown eyes raised so confidingly 
to his: “Madame, he will live the gladlier his life 
through for having been permitted to suffer a little in 
a service so blessed.” 

She did not drop her eyes before his, but stood gazing 
steadily up at him, and he watched the mischievous 
look die away and an adorable smile of tenderness break 
over her face. She put her hand on his arm with a 
little caressing touch, so delicate and withal so fraught 
with feeling that it spoke more than many words, and 
she whispered in a voice that thrilled his blood: “My 
dear friend!” 

Anthony flushed to the roots of his hair; he clenched 
his left hand so fiercely on his sword-hilt that the metal 
bruised his flesh. 

Madame de Nogaret stepped forward from her post 
beside the door. 

“Madame,” she said softly, “the hour passes, and 
Monsieur de Claverton has doubtless much to ask of 
you.” 

The spell was broken. The Duchess lowered her 
eyes with a little conscious laugh, and pouted at No- 
garet. 

“Well! Well!” she said impatiently. “And what 
has Monsieur to ask of me?” 

But Anthony’s wits were all astray. “Nothing, Mad- 
ame,” he stammered. “I have already troubled Your 
Highness more than is seemly with my affairs.” 

“Ah, the Cordon-bleu, I had forgotten!” cried the 


19 ^ 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


Duchess remorsefully. ‘‘What is to be done now, 
Monsieur ? ’ ’ 

“Is it impossible, Madame, that I should be taken 
back into the King’s service?” 

“Quite impossible. Monsieur. Chamillart does not 
forget a face. I see not what remains save for me to 
steal the jewel and hand it over to you.” She laughed, 
with a sparkle of excitement in her eyes. 

He shook his head. “No, Madame, I cannot endure 
that you should endanger yourself for me.” 

“Ah! ciel!” she cried gaily. “Life is so banal here 
in the Palace, a little scandal would enliven us all. 
And Louis — assuredly Louis would forgive me.” 

Her reckless gaiety was terribly infectious, but An- 
thony was resolute. 

“It is not to be thought of, Madame. You must 
not risk His Majesty’s displeasure. You must con- 
sider what you owe to — His Highness of Burgundy.” 

It was not very easy for Anthony to remind this 
bewitching Marie Adelaide of the existence of her hus- 
band, but he knew of no other argument to move her, 
and he was a chivalrous soul. 

She looked at him for a moment with the comicalest 
expression in her brown eyes. The difficulty with the 
little Duchess was that she always understood so frankly 
what was passing in the minds of her companions. She 
turned towards the door and dropped a stately curtsey. 

“In good time. Monsieur,” she said demurely, “I 
salute the entrance of His Grace of Burgundy.” 

She laughed up into his face in the sauciest manner 
imaginable, and Anthony for the life of him could not 
keep a twinkle out of his eyes. 

Nevertheless, this timely reference to her husband and 
to her position at Court sobered the little Duchess. 
She sighed and wrinkled her brows. 

“You are right, Monsieur. I may not venture it. 


GRATITUDE OF THE LITTLE DUCHESS 193 


But yet I see not otherwise how you hope to succeed/’ 

‘^Better I should fail, Madame, than that you be 
endangered.” 

She sighed again. ‘‘Ah, well, I must consider. Mon- 
sieur. Do you return to Paris and wait. In a day or 
two I will send you word what I can devise.” 

She gave a little gesture of farewell. He knelt and 
kissed her fingers. She put out her other hand, and it 
hovered a moment over his head as though she would 
touch his hair; but she forbore, and there was none 
to note the little gesture save the discreet Madame de 
Nogaret. 

Anthony rose to his feet. At the same moment he 
became aware of a commotion in the gallery without, a 
hurrying, a whispering, the clank of arms. The Duchess 
turned her head suddenly to listen; her face grew pale, 
her eyes widened with alarm. 

“Hush! hush! Monsieur!” she whispered breath- 
lessly. “The King! the King!” 


CHAPTER XXI 


FLIGHT 

‘‘Wer reitet so spat durcli Nacht und wind?” 

A NTHONY gazed helplessly about the room. There 
was but the one door; he could see no way of 
escape. But Madame de Nogaret had not lived her 
whole life at Court for nothing. Quick as thought she 
pushed him behind the heavy velvet curtains of the 
bed. Even as Louis entered the room the folds fell 
around him. 

The King looked tired. He sank into a low chair near 
the window and motioned to de Nogaret to set wide 
the casement. He loved fresh air, and regardless how 
he might inconvenience others, always had his windows 
wide open until ten at night. The little Duchess seated 
herself familiarly on a stool at his feet and began to 
chatter nonsense to him. 

From his hiding-place Anthony could watch her 
there, the light of the candles illumining her upturned, 
brilliant little face. Louis smiled dowm at her indul- 
gently. This spoiled, weary, selfish old King renewed 
his youth again in the presence of his gay little grand- 
daughter-in-law. She was the one person at Versailles 
who was utterly without fear of him; she scolded, 
teased and laughed at him, and he enjoyed it. 

As she sat at his feet pouring out a torrent of talk, 
light gossip, stories of practical jokes she had played on 
the Princesse d’Harcourt, her perpetual victim, plans 
for a new fete, or suggestions for the improvement of 
Marly, she looked as cool, as gay, as absolutely un- 
194 


FLIGHT 


195 


ruffled as though no danger lurked in the shadow of the 
curtains and threatened her life with ruin. Once she 
put up her hand and fingered the Cross that hung 
from the Cordon-bleu and she gave a low laugh of mis- 
chief. 

‘Ht is late,’’ said Louis suddenly. Would you not 
like to go to bed? Let Madame de Nogaret undress 
you and I will sit and talk to you till supper-time.” 

Anthony’s heart stood still. For this would neces- 
sitate the drawing of the curtains while the Princess was 
put to bed, and he must then be exposed to the view of 
the King. 

The Duchess laughed. ‘‘Not I, Sire. I do not love 
my bed like Madame.” 

But Louis shook his head. When he did condescend 
to consider anyone’s comfort he did not love to be 
contradicted. “Fagon tells me you are not strong. 
You should rest more. Go to bed. You are tired.” 

Again she laughed, a laugh full of mischievous ex- 
citement. She jumped to her feet. 

“Tired! Am I ever tired. Sire?” she cried gaily. 
Then she ran behind him and put her arms about his 
neck, her slim fingers darting now here, now there, in- 
side his coat. 

“What are you doing?” laughed the King. “Sit 
down, Marie.” 

For answer she gave him another hug and danced 
round him into the centre of the room, and lo! in her 
hands, lifted high above her head, she carried the 
Cordon-bleu. 

Anthony drew in his breath with a sudden gasp. 
What did it mean? Was she indeed purposing to force 
him to carry out her reckless scheme to snatch the 
jewel from her and run for his life? Surely — surely it 
was impossible. 

“Look, Sire,” she cried merrily, “you are robbed. 


196 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


Fie! You are no longer Grand Master. A thief has 
stolen your Cordon-bleu. ” 

Louis smiled benignly at the slim little figure dancing 
gaily before him with the shining jewel on its azure 
ribbon in her hand. 

‘‘And what does the thief purpose to do with it?” 
he asked, with a heavy attempt at raillery. 

“Ma foil To give it to the worthiest man in the 
kingdom,” she answered mockingly. “Where shall I 
find him, Sire? At St. Germains, at Meudon, or — in 
my rooms at Versailles?” 

All the time, while she talked and laughed, she 
pirouetted up and down before the King, drawing ever 
nearer and nearer to the curtain where Anthony stood 
concealed. And below her laughter he heard a low, 
breathless whisper. “Are you ready. Monsieur? Are 
you ready?” 

It was true, then, this was the chance she offered 
him, his one hope of success. And outside the door 
he heard the clanking arms of the captains of the Guard, 
and below on the terrace the challenge of the sentries. 
But before him danced ever the little Duchess, her eyes 
shining with excitement, her breath coming in little 
ripples of mischievous laughter, her whole person a gay 
challenge to reckless daring. 

“Come, give it to me, Marie,” laughed the King, 
watching with admiring eyes the subtle grace of the 
little swaying figure. 

“Not until you prove to me that you are the worthiest 
man in Prance,” she cried gaily. “This is for 
him alone who dares to take it. — ^Now, Monsieur, 
now!” 

Her last words, muttered in a low whisper, reached 
Anthony’s ears. It was madness, madness! But was 
not the whole wager madness, indeed? And what man, 
with hot blood in his veins and youth in his heart, would 


FLIGHT 197 

not choose to be mad? — ^when challenged by the little 
Duchess ! 

With what was intended to be a fierce shout, but re- 
sembled rather a hoarse croak, Anthony sprang from 
his hiding-place. He snatched the Cordon-bleu and 
pushed the Duchess back against the bed so roughly 
that she cried aloud in genuine fear, but he must at all 
costs spare her from suspicion of complicity in the plot. 
Past the dazed and bewildered King he sprang, out of 
the window, down to the terrace below. And then the 
race for life! 

Never, in his worst nightmare, had Anthony ex- 
perienced anything approaching the horror of that run 
through the gardens. Trembling, stumbling, gasping 
for breath, he ran with every muscle of his body 
strained to the uttermost, and as in a nightmare he 
seemed to make no progress; the long vista of trees 
stretched on and on before him, the paths seemed 
doomed eternally to twist and wind through a bewilder- 
ing darkness. Faintly, through the blood that surged 
in his ears, he heard sounds of the commotion behind 
him, a woman screaming from an open window in the 
Palace, the shout of the sentries, the calling out of 
the Guard. And cries and running footsteps and 
clutching hands seemed all about him. 

But at length, when his breath was well-nigh spent, 
he reached the Porte du Petit Parc. It was still un- 
guarded, his horse still tethered without. He tumbled 
into the saddle and spurred for the west, the Cordon- 
bleu thrust in his breast. Looking back he saw the 
Palace ablaze with lights and the gardens bright with 
hurrying torches. 

So he rode. On, on through the darkness, spurring 
to the uttermost the good horse beneath him, riding a 
veritable race with Death. 

He crossed the Seine at Manlis and then turned north- 


198 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


ward. He reached Chantilly at midnight, his horse 
utterly spent. Reckless of consequences he roused the 
inn, clamouring for the best horse in the stables. 
When the sleepy host demurred, Anthony boldly showed 
the Cordon-bleu with its Royal insignia, crying: ^‘On 
the King’s service.” 

The ruse acted like magic. In five minutes he was 
horsed and again on the road. He knew that thus he 
left a fatal clue behind him, but he risked everything 
rather than delay. 

Sunrise saw him at Pontoise and again the Royal 
insignia won him instant service. At Beauvais he dared 
to stop half an hour to snatch a hurried meal, then on 
again, heading for Amiens, the sound of pursuit ever in 
his ears. 

He had been riding now for nearly fifteen hours. 
Every muscle in his body ached with pain, and he 
reeled in his saddle like a drunken man. For Anthony 
was no soldier of Fortune, no highwayman inured to 
hours in the saddle, but a sober English gentleman, who 
but a few days since had risen from a bed of fever and 
was still bruised from head to foot. Nor was he ac- 
customed to reckon with pursuers, to experience the 
horrors of flight; his life hitherto had lain in peaceful 
paths, the only dangers he had faced lay in the point of 
a duelling sword, or a stiff hedge out hunting. And as 
he rode thus, with his life in the balance, the pain that 
racked him was nothing compared with the grip of 
Fear on his heart. 

He calculated that he must be at least an hour ahead ^ 
of his pursuers, even supposing they had at once got 
upon his track, for he had changed his horse every 
two hours and taken the pick of the stables. But his 
chief danger would come when he reached the coast; 
he could not hope to find a ship instantly ready to sail, 
he would be forced to search, to bribe, to wait upon 


FLIGHT 


199 


decisions, and any instant delay might be his ruin. 

At two o 'clock he rode into a town which should have 
been Crevecoeur, and turned in search of the inn where 
he had rested on his journey south. But presently he 
drew rein and rubbed his eyes in bewilderment, for the 
town had changed ; it was smaller, the streets narrower, 
the tall tower of St. Sulpice was not to be found. An- 
thony began to doubt the evidence of his senses. He 
rode up to the door of a small hostelry and demanded 
the name of the place. The host eyed him curiously. 

‘‘But — Gournay, Monsieur," he said politely. 

“Gournay! Then . How far to Crevecoeur?" 

“Crevecoeur lies ten leagues to the eastward; Mon- 
sieur has without doubt missed his road." 

Anthony put his hand to his head with a groan of 
dismay. If this were so, he had ridden thirty miles 
out of his way. His pursuers, supposing they were on 
his track (which he could hardly doubt considering the 
traces he had left in his wake), must now be ahead of 
him on the road to Calais, spreading wide the news of 
his flight and effectually blocking his way to the coast. 
But one possible course now remained for him : to turn 
westward through Neufchatel and strike the coast in 
the neighbourhood of St. Valery or Dieppe. 

He dismounted, calling for food and wine instantly, 
and a fresh horse to be saddled. But he no longer 
dare risk the display of the Eoyal insignia, and he 
fumed and fretted a half-hour away before he was 
once more upon the road. 

When at five o’clock in the evening he drew rein at 
last before the door of the “Golden Harrow," an ob- 
scure hostelry just within the gates of Neufchatel, he 
knew that his powers of endurance were nearly at an 
end. He had ridden hard for nineteen hours, without 
rest, almost without food, haunted ever by the grim 
fear of pursuit. His head swam, his limbs were 


200 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


numbed, and he could scarce keep his seat in the sad- 
dle; every movement was an agony, and it was only by 
the severest effort he could force his brain to think 
clearly or his tongue to express his thoughts. His one 
desire was for repose. He would have welcomed cap- 
ture for the peace it would bring ; only a certain dogged 
resolution, almost mechanical, kept him fixed to his pur- 
pose to escape. 

The host of the ‘‘Golden Harrow” was a woman, 
Madame Bonnet, a kindly soul who looked with eyes 
of commiseration at the weary face of her guest. To 
his demand for a fresh horse she replied sadly that it 
was impossible. But a half-hour since they had posted 
a gentleman to Dieppe, only two horses remained in 
the stables and they were bespoken by a foreign lady 
and gentleman, English, she believed, who were jour- 
neying south. In vain Anthony alternately stormed 
and entreated, Madame Bonnet was obdurate. The 
little English lady had begged her to keep the horses 
ready for them to start at any moment. She was most 
anxious to proceed, but Monsieur her brother was ill 
and could not travel, and the little English lady was 
desolate at the delay. Madame Bonnet would in no 
way be induced to add to the grief of the poor lady by 
failing in her promise to have the horses reserved for 
her; 

So the good woman poured forth her tale, profusely 
interspersed with apologies and regrets. She was heart- 
broken to refuse Monsieur, but the little English lady 
must in no way be disappointed. 

Finding that he made no headway, Anthony deter- 
mined to appeal to the travellers themselves, the more 
so as the thought of meeting an Englishman, whatever 
he might be, gave him an absurd, but none the less 
satisfying, sense of security. 

“Let me speak with these gentry,” he said wearily. 


FLIGHT 201 

am a countryman of theirs. Maybe they will spare 
me a horse.’’ 

Madame Bonnet beamed at the suggestion. To be 
sure, Monsieur should speak with them on the instant. 
The gentleman certainly was ill and must not be dis- 
turbed, but doubtless Madame would be charmed to 
meet a compatriot. 

She turned at once and led Anthony down a short 
passage to a low, wainscoted room at the back of the 
house. In the window, gazing disconsolately out on 
the little garden, stood a woman in a soft blue gown. 
She turned quickly at their entrance. 

Anthony gave a low cry and pressed his hand before 
his eyes. 

‘^You!” he muttered. ‘‘Heaven help me! You!” 

For there before him in the window, the low sun 
turning her hair into an aureole of golden light, stood 
Sylvia Defraine. 


CHAPTER XXII 


DEFIANCE 

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, 
Thou dost not bite so nigh 
As benefits forgot. 

Though thou the waters warp, 
Thy sting is not so sharp 
As friends remembered not. 


S YLVIA looked at him for a minute with blank, un- 
comprehending gaze. Indeed, it was not easy to 
recognise the spruce, debonair Anthony Claverton, of 
St. James’s, in this haggard, unshaven, wild-eyed man, 
covered from head to foot with the dust of travel. 
When at length it dawned upon her who was her visitor, 
a deep flush mounted to her brows; she tilted her chin 
defiantly, set her mouth obstinately, and dropped him 
a demure curtsey. 

‘‘Good even to you. Sir Anthony,” she said coolly. 
‘‘What business brings you to France?” 

But Anthony was in no mood for ceremony. He 
strode to her side and gripped her arm. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked harshly. 

She stared up at him in a surprise which slowly gave 
place to fear, as she met the desperate look in his eyes. 
“I — I am journeying to St. Germains,” she faltered. 
“Is that blackguard Wilton in your company?” 
Sylvia drew back angrily, but he held her arm in a 
grip that made her wince. 

“Answer me,” he said sternly. “Are you running 

away with that d d fellow?” 

Sylvia’s grey eyes were wide with mingled fear and 
anger. Never in her life had she been spoken to like 
202 


DEFIANCE 


203 

this. She could not understand it, nor the meaning of 
Anthony’s sudden appearance, nor the look of despera- 
tion on his face. 

‘‘Yes,” she faltered. “Mr. Wilton is escorting me. 
I — I could not endure longer to live out of his com- 
pany.” 

“So! You have broken the promise you gave your 
dead father?” he said, in a voice of contempt. 

She flushed crimson. “No, I have not,” she cried 
quickly. “I will not wed without my guardian’s con- 
sent. But — but Her Majesty Mary of Modena is like- 
wise my guardian. Mr. Wilton is taking me to St. 
Germains to put me under her protection, that we may 
beg her consent to our marriage.” 

Anthony broke into sudden harsh laughter. “You 
are deceived. That scoundrel never intends to reach 
St. Germains. He dare not show his face within flfty 
miles of the town. He has brought you here to force 
you into marrying him, since presently such a marriage 
will be all that remains for you.” 

Sylvia struggled to draw her arm from his hold. “I 
do not believe you,” she said obstinately. 

“Yet the truth is clear enough. Think. Has he not 
done all in his power to keep you from St. Germains? 
Is he not even now feigning illness to hold you here 
alone in his company, to compromise you without hope 
of escape? For Heaven’s sake use your wits, unless 
the scoundrel has bewitched you entirely!” 

As he spoke he saw her face change as though his 
words found echo in her own suspicions, but she shook 
her head. 

“It is not true,” she whispered. “It — ^it could not 
be true.” 

Anthony turned to Madame Bonnet, who was watch- 
ing them with puzzled face, striving vainly to under- 
stand what was passing ; she knew no English. 


204 ? 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


‘‘Let Madame ’s coach be harnessed instantly,” he 
said abruptly. 

Sylvia looked np quickly. “Why do you order my 
coach?” 

“You are coming with me to England,” he said 
harshly. 

“But I will not,” she cried angrily. “To St. Ger- 
mains, if you will. If not, I remain here until Mr. 
Wilton is able to answer these accusations you bring 
against him.” 

Ere Anthony could reply, interruption came from an 
unexpected quarter. Sylvia’s maid, a rosy-cheeked 
country-girl, with whom he had been tolerably con- 
versant in Gloucestershire, ran forward from the ob- 
scure corner of the room where she had been stand- 
ing and fell on her knees before her mistress. 

“Ah, Mistress Sylvia, for pity’s sake let us go back 
to England! Sir Anthony speaks truth. Did not Mr. 
Wilton delay us at Dover, and again at Calais, and 
drive us hither and thither about this God-forsaken 
land? And he is not ill, I have told you, it is but 
counterfeit, to keep us at this cursed inn. Ah, Mistress 
Sylvia, let us go home!” 

Sylvia’s eyes blazed. She struck the girl across the 
face with her open hand. “Be silent, girl. This is 
none of your business.” 

But Anthony turned quickly to the maid and puUed 
her to her feet. 

“Are the mails ready?” he asked sharply. 

“Yes, sir,” she cried eagerly. “We have been pre- 
pared for departure these three days.” 

“Then see them put on the coach and fetch your 
mistress’s cloak.” 

Sylvia faced him defiantly. “I am not going with 
you.” 

Anthony turned on his heel and strode towards the 


DEFIANCE 205 

door. ‘‘This is no time for words, madam, he said 
shortly. “We start on the instant.’’ 

But Sylvia ran swiftly past him, calling aloud to 
Madame Bonnet ; the good woman hurried back in 
answer to her call. 

“He is carrying me away against my will,” she cried 
piteously. “Do not let him, Madame. Ah, protect me 
from him!” 

Anthony lifted his clenched fists despairingly. 
“Heaven help me!” he muttered hopelessly. “Have 
I not enough on my hands without this?” 

The hostess put her arms protectingly about Sylvia 
and turned fiercely on Anthony. 

“Out of my house!” she cried. “Not a horse shall 
you have out of my stables. I want neither you nor 
your money. My poor lamb,” she murmured tenderly, 
patting Sylvia’s shoulders, “don’t be afraid. Marie 
Bonnet will not let him touch you.” 

Anthony laid a hand on Sylvia’s arm to draw her 
away; the hostess flew out at him like a very virago. 

“Be off with you, or I’ll call the grooms to throw 
you out of the window. Be off.” 

For a moment Anthony hesitated, then a look of 
grim desperation crossed his face. He drew out the 
Cordon-bleu. 

“On the King’s service,” he said sternly, and mo- 
tioned to the woman to stand aside. 

Madame Bonnet’s eyes grew wide with fear at sight 
of the Koyal insignia. Her arms dropped to her sides 
and she drew back. 

“Ciel! If it be the King’s affair ” she muttered. 

“Madame Bonnet !” cried Sylvia reproachfully. 

The woman shook her head helplessly, there were 
tears in her eyes. 

“My lamb! How can I help you? Who can go 
against the King?” 


S06 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


‘‘Good!’’ said Anthony sharply. “It is well you 
understand. Now — is the coach ready?” 

“Yes, Monsieur,” she stammered nervously. 

“Then listen to me. The gentleman upstairs is not 
to be allowed to depart for three days. You under- 
stand ? ’ ’ 

“Yes, Monsieur,” she answered sadly, avoiding 
Sylvia’s eyes. 

The maid, Janet, appeared with her mistress’s cloak. 
Anthony took it and put it round Sylvia’s shoulders. 

“Come, Mistress Sylvia,” he said impatiently. 

“I will not come,” she repeated doggedly. 

“You prefer to be taken by force?” he asked shortly. 

“You — you would not dare!” she cried. 

He looked at her and laughed suddenly. It seemed 
so strange, after what he had already dared, was even 
then risking, to think she should expect him to shrink 
from so small a matter as this. Without a word he 
picked her up in his arms and staggered down the pas- 
sage out to the coach that awaited them. 

Sylvia was too astonished and too frightened even 
to cry out. Anthony put her down among the cushions 
of the coach gently enough, then he laid his hand on 
hers, and looked at her steadily with his weary eyes. 

“Listen, madam. This is a matter of life and death, 
and I cannot tolerate any further hindrances. If you 
attempt to cry out you will be gagged. For Heaven’s 
sake, don’t try to thwart me or — I can’t answer for my 
self-control.” 

He bundled the maid into the coach, shut the door 
upon them, and sprang on to the box. 

“To Dieppe!” he cried. “On the King’s service! 
Drive like the devil.” 

The postillions spurred the horses onward with a 
right goodwill, and the coach swayed from side to side 
as it lumbered after them; but to Anthony the com- 


DEFIANCE 


m 


parative slowness of their progress was maddening. 
For now he was indeed almost at the end of his hopes. 
He would not desert Sylvia; to that resolve he clung 
with the last shred of dogged determination that re- 
mained to him, yet her presence added a thousandfold 
to the difficulties of escape. 

Dangers lay both behind and before. For Madame 
Bonnet’s tale would be over the town in half an hour; 
when the Royal post reached Neufchatel there would 
not be an instant ’s delay in following on his track. And 
if his pursuers had indeed passed him on the road to 
CreveccEur, he could not doubt that already messengers 
would be posted to every seaport to prevent his escape. 
Every time they stopped to change horses his heart 
beat with a wild fear lest already the news of his flight 
might be known, lest at any moment he might And him- 
self trapped. 

On horseback he would have covered the distance 
between Neufchatel and Dieppe in about four hours; 
but hampered by the lumbering coach and delayed by 
the difficulties of procuring relays at so late an hour, 
they were more than double that time upon the jour- 
ney. It was three o’clock in the morning, and the dawn 
was breaking behind the sand-hills when they reached 
Dieppe. 

By this time the post-boys were mutinous with ex- 
haustion; ever since passing Blangy, Anthony had sat, 
pistol in hand, terrifying them into obedience. For 
himself, when he felt the fresh salt wind in his face 
and heard the low wash of the distant waves upon the 
shingle, the fears which had haunted him hitherto faded 
away, leaving him strangely calm and quiet. His 
tired brain was too bemused to plan or reason clearly; 
for the last thirty hours he had been straining every 
muscle to reach the coast, the attainment of that object 
had grown to be the one thing desirable, beside this one 


208 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


thing all other difficulties faded into insignificance. 
And now that he stood at last with but this narrow 
strip of water betwixt himself and safety, he was con- 
scious of the strangest feeling of fatalism, as though 
there were no longer need for haste or caution, as 
though the end were already secure. In reality this 
was but a natural stupefaction of the senses, following 
upon the intense exertion and mental strain of the last 
two days. 

He directed the post-boys to drive to the best hostelry 
in the village, and they accordingly drew rein before 
the ‘‘Golden Sun,’’ close to the harbour. Anthony 
climbed stiffly to the ground and opened the door of 
the coach. Sylvia had just wakened from a fitful 
slumber; there were dark rings of weariness round her 
eyes, which were red with weeping. She dismounted 
from the coach with alacrity, taking no notice of his 
proffered hand, and looked eagerly about her. Her 
face fell at sight of the poor hostelry, and the huddle of 
fishermen’s huts below the Castle showing dimly in the 
pale light. 

“What place is this?” she asked quickly. 

“Dieppe, madam,” answered Anthony gently. “You 
shall rest for an hour before we go aboard.” 

She did not look at him, but passed slowly across the 
courtyard to the door of the house, which was even 
then opened by a sleepy groom. But Janet the maid 
stopped and eyed him curiously. 

“Are you ill, sir?” 

“111? No, of course not,” answered Anthony 
brusquely. 

The girl shook her head. “You look main weary,” 
she said. “You would do well to rest an hour or so, 
and have a cup of wine.” 

The inn afforded poor accommodation, and guests 
arriving at such an hour could expect but scant wel- 


DEFIANCE 


209 


come. The two available sleeping apartments were oc- 
cupied, so Anthony took possession of the host’s little 
parlour, which opened out of the general eating-room for 
the women, and commanded that the fire be lighted and 
food and wine provided with all speed. He paid the 
post-boys liberally and dismissed them to their 
well-earned rest. Then nothing remained to be 
done save to wait until sunrise, when he could go 
down to the harbour and bargain for a passage to Eng- 
land. 

The host had not yet put in an appearance, and the 
groom, who waited upon him, was not inclined to be 
communicative at so early an hour. Anthony there- 
fore had no chance to ascertain whether the news of 
the theft of the Condon-bleu had as yet arrived in 
Dieppe. For an hour he strode miserably up and 
down the empty coffee-room. He dared not take a 
minute’s rest, for now that the need for immediate ac- 
tion had passed, he was obsessed by an intolerable 
drowsiness to which he feared to give way. 

When the first sign of life showed in the harbour 
below, he crossed to the door of Sylvia’s room and 
tapped on the panels. 

‘Hs your lady awake?” he asked, when Janet an- 
swered his summons. must speak with her.” 

Before the girl would answer Sylvia herself appeared 
on the threshold. 

‘‘What have you to say to me?” she asked coldly. 

“I am going out to bargain for a passage to Eng- 
land. May I ask you to remain in this room until I 
return ? ’ ’ 

Sylvia’s hands were clasped tightly together, her 
breath came in little fluttering gasps, but she faced him 
steadily. 

“No, Sir Anthony. You have carried me off against 
my will by — by brutal force. I deny your right to 


210 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


interfere with my affairs, and I will not submit to be 
taken to England.” 

Anthony 's face crimsoned slowly ; he clenched his fists 
in a rigid effort at self-control. 

‘‘Mistress Sylvia,” he said harshly, “I have warned 
you that I will shrink from no measures to enable me 
to carry out that which I have undertaken. You are 
not wise to defy me, madam.” 

Sylvia’s eyes, looking up into his, were full of fear, 
and her voice fluttered in her throat, but her resolution 
was unshaken. 

“I do defy you,” she answered bravely. “I, too, 
will shrink from nothing to win my escape.” 

For one moment Anthony hesitated, half resolved to 
explain to her the danger in which he stood, to throw 
himself on her pity; but pride, anger, and a certain 
despairing weariness of words withheld him,. He 
glanced across at the window of the room, and saw 
that the opening was too small for the egress of a 
human body, then he stepped backward, shut the door 
quietly in Sylvia’s face, locked it and put the key in his 
pocket. 

He left the inn and hurried down towards the har- 
bour. As he did so a horseman galloped rapidly past 
him on the way to the Castle. Anthony’s mind misgave 
him, he hurried on and eagerly accosted a good-hu- 
moured ship’s captain who was strolling towards the 
beach. He blessed his luck, the man was sailing within 
an hour and would willingly take him and the women 
on board. But even as they concluded their bargain 
the bomb fell; a messenger hurried down with orders 
from the Castle that no boats were to leave the harbour. 
With despair in his heart Anthony realised that the 
pursuit had overtaken him; he was trapped. 

With a supreme effort of self-control Anthony hid 
his consternation from the captain and parted from 


DEFIANCE 


m 


him in friendly wise, bidding him send word when he 
was ready to sail. Then slowly he made his way back 
to the Golden Sun.’’ 

One hope only remained to him ; unless the messenger 
came directly from Neufchatel his pursuers would 
hardly expect to find him journeying in company with 
two women, he might for a time escape detection. But 
it could not be for long, and where to turn for safety in 
the meantime he could by no means devise. 

As he passed through the courtyard of the ‘‘Golden 
Sun,” he started suddenly and looked up with a new 
air of apprehension. From the open windows of the 
coffee-room he heard Sylvia’s voice, laughing and talk- 
ing eagerly, her words interrupted now and then by 
the deep tones of a man’s laughter. With a savage 
imprecation he hurried into the room. At a round 
table near the window sat Sylvia, placidly drinking her 
coffee, and opposite to her, watching her every move- 
ment with admiring eyes, sat Mr. Thomas Kirkpatrick, 
Jacobite and adventurer, whose horse Anthony had 
carried off on his first arrival in France. Thus does 
Nemesis pursue us, even to the last tittle of our dues. 

Kirkpatrick turned on Anthony’s entrance, stared at 
him for a moment, and then sprang to his feet, crimson- 
ing with rage. 

“Thank Heaven we meet again! So, sir, it is you 
who have dared to abduct this lady. ’Pon my soul I you 
have a tolerable record for one man : traitor, horse-thief 
and kidnapper.” 

There was an ugly look in Anthony’s eyes as he faced 
the Jacobite. “My affairs are none of yours,” he said 
harshly. “Nor shall I tolerate your interference be- 
twixt this lady and myself.” 

“That is for the lady herself to decide,” said Kirk- 
patrick angrily. 

Sylvia nodded and put down her cup. “I have put 


212 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


myself under the care of Mr. Kirkpatrick,” she said 
coolly. ‘‘I overheard him say that he had come hither 
from St. Germains, consequently I called to him from 
my window and talked with him. He knew my father 
and has most kindly agreed to postpone his journey to 
England and take me at once to the Court of King 
James. He was also so vastly obliging as to break open 
my door and invite me to breakfast.” She nodded 
again defiantly at Anthony and poured herself out a 
second cup of coffee. 

This was the last spark to Anthony’s rising fury. 
Had Sylvia looked in his eyes she assuredly would not 
have dared to flout him thus, but she preferred to stare 
over his shoulder and smile at Mr. Kirkpatrick. It 
must be remembered she knew nothing of the anxieties 
that racked him. 

Anthony turned his back on her and faced the 
Jacobite. 

‘‘I have warned you, sir, that I shall not allow you 
to interfere with this lady,” he said very quietly. 

There was an uneasy expression on Kirkpatrick’s face; 
he still took his opponent for Robert Wilton, whose 
swordsmanship was unrivalled; but he looked at Sylvia’s 
smiling eyes and he would not retreat. 

‘^For my part, sir,” he said defiantly, I do not ac- 
cept threats from any man.” 

Anthony bowed. ‘Wery good. The garden is toler- 
ably convenient and I see you wear a sword. I am at 
your service.” 

Sylvia sprang to her feet with a frightened cry. ‘‘No ! 
I will not have you fight. I will not have it!” She 
beat her little hands together in impotent dismay. 

Anthony eyed her grimly. “ ’Tis your own doing, 
madam. There is no other way to settle this matter.” 
He turned to his opponent. “I await your leisure, sir.” 


DEFIANCE ns 

For a second Kirkpatrick hesitated, then he turned 
slowly and followed Anthony out of the room. 

Sylvia ran to the door and back to the window and 
then again irresolutely to the door, like a frightened, 
fluttering bird. Finally she sank into a chair, and, 
covering her face with her hands, broke into passionate, 
helpless weeping. 

After a time she sat up, dried her eyes, and began to 
, listen eagerly, her heart beating so loudly that it seemed 
to her to drown all other sounds. Presently she heard 
a loud shout, voices raised in confusion of cries and ex- 
clamations, a man ran rapidly across the courtyard and 
out of the gate of the inn. Then followed a low mur- 
mur of voices and the slow dragging footsteps of men 
who carry a heavy burden. She wished to rise, to hurry 
out, to learn what had happened, but fear held her to 
her seat. With a low cry she covered her eyes with her 
hands and sat trembling and sobbing in a paroxysm 
of sheer terror. 

At last someone entered the room ; she looked up and 
saw Anthony leaning on the table, staring down at her. 
He looked ghastly, the left sleeve of his coat hung empty 
and she saw he carried his arm in a rough sling; his 
face was absolutely bloodless, and his lips were set in 
a straight line of stern endurance. 

‘‘I have come to tell you, madam,’’ he said grimly, 
‘^that Mr. Kirkpatrick will be unable to escort you to 
St. Germains.” 

‘‘You have — ^killed him?” she gasped. 

‘‘No. But it will be some days before he is in a flt 
state to travel. You will therefore prepare to start with 
me for Fecamp as soon as the coach is prepared.” 

He could devise no means of escape save this: to jour- 
ney on and on along the coast in the vain hope of out- 
distancing the Koyal posts, or flnding somewhere an 


214 THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 

English vessel willing to brave orders and take them 
aboard. 

As is usually the case after intense fear, the reaction 
in Sylvia’s case took the form of a sudden fit of rage. 
She sprang to her feet and faced him, her eyes blazing 
with anger. 

will not go with you — I will not. How comes it 
you dare treat me thus? You find me helpless, you 
drive away those who would aid me, you take advantage 
of my woman’s weakness to force me to your way. Oh, 
but I hate you, I hate you ! Coward that you are !” 

Anthony sank down rather suddenly into a chair and 
drew his hand wearily across his brow. 

— I can’t talk with you, madam,” he said indis- 
tinctly. ‘^We start in ten minutes.” 

She looked at him and a sudden smile of triumph 
flashed across her face. She drew near and stood over 
him. 

‘‘You are wounded,” she said, smiling cruelly, ^‘and 
I think your strength is spent. I am glad on’t. Now 
you can no longer take me by force. I shall return to 
Neufchatel.” 

With a sudden last effort Anthony staggered to his 
feet and seized her arm in a grip that made her cry 
aloud. His eyes were blazing in his white face. 

am wounded, madam, but I am not yet spent. So 
long as there remains a breath of life in my body I will 
spend it in holding you from that d d scoundrel.” 

For a full minute they gazed at one another, each in 
a white blaze of anger, then Sylvia’s lips curved in a 
smile of defiance. ^‘So be it,” she said mockingly. 
‘‘But I will not stir a step at your bidding. Take me 
by force — if you can.” 

‘ ‘ Holy St. Patrick, madam ! Can ’t you see the man 
is swooning?” 

Sylvia started and looked up quickly at sound of his 


DEFIANCE ^15 

frank, English voice; but Anthony swung round and 
took a few swaying steps towards the door. 

Peter!’’ he cried helplessly. Peter!” 

In a minute Peter Wildmore’s arm was about him, 
steering him back to a chair. 

''Steady, Tony!” he said huskily. "Steady!” 

Anthony put up his hand and pulled at the other’s 
sleeve. 

"Peter,” he muttered indistinctly. "If you can’t — 
get me out of — this demmed country in half an hour — 
I — I’m done for.” Then he placidly fainted away. 

Peter laid him down gently and his fingers busied 
themselves with the roughly-bandaged shoulder. "Fetch 
me some water,” he said curtly to Sylvia, and she ran 
to obey him. With wonderful skill and tenderness the 
little man dressed the wounded shoulder and bathed 
Anthony’s brow. 

Presently Anthony opened his eyes, smiled up at 
Peter for a few minutes and then sank peacefully back 
into unconsciousness. 

Peter eyed him anxiously. "Plaguy awkward busi- 
ness,” he muttered. He ran his fingers through his 
hair, stared at the floor for a few minutes in puzzled 
thought, then gave a low chuckle of satisfaction, and 
taking out his tablets scrawled a few lines. 

He next flung wide the door and shouted for the host. 
The man ran to answer the summons. 

"Send a groom at once with this to Monsieur de 
Noailles at the Castle, and provide a litter to carry this 
fellow down to the harbour.” 

"Yes, milord,” answered the man, and flew on his 
errand. 

Peter walked back to Anthony’s side, nodding his head 
complacently. "That will serve,” he said. He turned 
cheerfully to Sylvia. 

"I’ve an English cutter down yonder; I came across 


216 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


in her yesterday. There’s an order against any boat 
leaving the harbour, but I dined last night with Mon- 
sieur de Noailles and told him I was in pursuit of a 
rascally fellow who had run off with my ward. You 
are my ward for the nonce, Mistress Sylvia, and Tony 
here shall play the rascally fellow who has met his 
deserts. I warrant de Noailles will give me ready leave 
to sail. ’ ’ 

Sylvia stared at him. ‘‘But do you seriously mean 
that you were in pursuit of me, my lord?” 

“Assuredly I was,” answered Peter coolly. “Didn’t 
Tony here bid me keep you under my eye? I’ve been 
on the track of you these five days.” 

Sylvia drew herself up haughtily. “Then it was 
amazing insolent of you, my Lord Wildmore. What 
right have you to meddle in my affairs?” 

Peter shrugged his shoulders. “Faith! I’m never 
one to trouble my head with the right or wrong of a 
matter, madam. That poor fellow yonder bade me keep 
you under my eye, and I’ll do his bidding if I have to 
carry you back to England with a sack over your head.” 

Sylvia stared at him, crimson with indignation. 
“How dare you?” she cried. “How dare you set his 
will against minef^’ 

Peter slowly adjusted his eye-glass and looked Sylvia 
up and down with calmly contemplative gaze. 

“Madam,” he said drily, “Tony Claverton is the 
staunchest friend a man ever had, and you — faith! 
you’re just a chit of a girl with the most shrewish 
tongue in Christendom.” 

And behold ! Sylvia, after staring blankly at the little 
man for a full minute, meekly submitted without an- 
other word. Her world was turned upside-down. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


A HAVEN OF PEACE 

‘T dreamt of a red rose tree, 

And which of its roses three 
Is the dearest rose to me?” 

T en days later Anthony was lying in a pillowed chair 
on the upper terrace of a sloping garden high on 
the downs above Seaford; beside him sat Louise Carew 
bending over her embroidery, and near at hand Peter, 
his coat laid aside, was busily employed nailing up a 
straggling rose bush. The warm June sunshine fell 
about them, a soft breeze from the sea freshened the air ; 
it was an ideal scene for a man who but a few days be- 
fore had gripped hands with Death. He lay gazing con- 
tentedly over the sunny waters, or watching with a smile 
of mild amusement the unwonted energy of his friend. 

Peter, for his part, was immensely pleased with him- 
self these days. He had successfully carried off Anthony 
under the very eyes of de Noailles, brought him across 
to Seaford, and then, judging his condition too critical 
for travel, and misliking the scanty accommodation of- 
fered him at the inn, had boldly invaded the white house 
on the downs and demanded hospitality. There he had 
found Louise Carew and met with a welcome that ex- 
ceeded all expectations. For at last Mrs. Carew was 
freed from her self-imposed slavery; the aunt who had 
tyrannised over her penniless companion, as only a 
woman of narrow mind and selfish spirit can play the 
tyrant, had passed complaining to her rest, and Louise 
found herself once more in possession of her freedom and 
a moderate competency. 


217 


218 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


That the first demand upon her new-found leisure 
should be made by the man who had saved her, brought 
her a joy unspeakable; she lavished upon him an un- 
wearying care, tended and soothed him through hours of 
vnld delirium, and slowly coaxed him back to life. Dur- 
ing these days, despite her unceasing toil, Louise seemed 
to blossom anew to life and happiness. All that intense 
joy of living, that delicious gaiety, that ready wit which 
had characterised her formerly and which for so many 
weeks had been sedulously suppressed, rose once more 
to the surface ; happiness shone in her face and sounded 
in her voice; she seemed by some subtle magic to pour 
her own vitality into the heart of the tired man, and by 
the very virtue of her joyous strength woo him back 
from the jaws of death. Anthony speedily learnt to 
turn to her in every need, and to lean on her in the in- 
tolerable hours of his weakness. 

At the .end of a week, thanks to her tendance, he was 
almost himself again, sufficiently convalescent to enjoy 
rousing her wit, or calling the slow smile into her stead- 
fast eyes, to find pleasure in Peter’s companionship, to 
revel in the glories of sea and sky, and in the peace of 
security. The Cordon-bleu lay safe against his heart, 
waiting the hour when he should have strength to jour- 
ney to London and deliver it up to Michael Lefroy; his 
anxieties were over, the need for constant care, constant 
contriving, had passed away. 

And yet, though Fate had allowed him to drift for a 
while into this haven of peace, there were times when 
it seemed to Anthony that even in the very hour of suc- 
cess he had lost all that made life precious in his eyes. 
For since that day when they had defied one another in 
the inn at Dieppe, Sylvia had never spoken one word 
to him, nor looked at him in kindness; and despite his 
pleasure in the company of Louise, despite Peter’s fre- 
quent reminders of the joys of bachelorhood, Anthony 


A HAVEN OF PEACE 


^19 


grew daily more and more obsessed with the notion that 
to storm the heart and win the submission of this de- 
fiant ‘‘chit of a girV^ was the only thing the world of- 
fered worthy of accomplishment. 

Yet this was the same man who, but two short weeks 
before, had felt his heart beat and his hand tremble at 
the touch of the little Duchess. Truly, the Fates deal 
strangely with a lusty bachelor who dares them defiance ! 

Lady Sophia, that shrewd woman of the world, had 
been tolerably successful in hiding the fact of Sylvia’s 
fiight from the gossips of the town. Peter sent her early 
news of her goddaughter’s safety, but it was judged 
wisest that the girl should remain at Seaford until Louise 
could herself escort her to Town, and to this Sylvia will- 
ingly agreed. She showed herself indeed strangely sub- 
missive these days, responding with shy gratitude to the 
kindness of Louise, and acceding to all Peter’s proposals 
with a meekness that fairly terrified the little man. 
Only towards Anthony was she adamant, avoiding his 
presence whenever possible, and when forced to remain 
in his company, sitting always silent and aloof. Peter 
thought her unreasonable, and Louise held her surly; 
Anthony read in her conduct an unpardoning enmity 
that filled him with bitter despair. 

But as the days went by, Sylvia herself was suffer- 
ing an utter loneliness, and tormented by an intolerable 
shame. All her life she had been petted and spoiled; 
despite Sir John’s sternness she had queened it finely 
down at Birdlip, and in the few weeks that had elapsed 
since her coming to Town, she had been fiattered and 
followed by the homage of every man who held himself 
a leader of the mode and a true connoisseur of beauty. 
Now, for the first time, she was learning to realise her 
insignificance in a world that appeared to have no need 
of her. With all her strength she had measured her 
will against that of Anthony, and had found that her 


220 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


desires made no impression at all upon his resolve to save 
her from Wilton; she saw herself in the eyes of Louise 
but a foolish girl, kindly tolerated for Anthony’s sake; 
while Peter frankly regarded her as an unreasonable 
child who ought to thank God fasting” for the inex- 
plicable interest Anthony took in her affairs. 

But this was not the worst. She had passed a lonely 
childhood feeding her imagination on the stories of ro- 
mance. She had gloried in her love for Wilton, holding 
her promised troth a higher duty than that she owed 
to a friend or guardian; loyalty to him had become her 
religion. Yet wherever she turned she heard him ill 
spoken of ; to preserve her loyalty she must set her judg- 
ment up against all the world, this world which showed 
her hourly how ill-equipped she was to judge of any 
man. And certainly during that wild flight towards St. 
Germains there had been occasions when doubts and 
fears had darkened her loyalty, when she could not be 
blind to Wilton’s endeavours to hinder their journey, 
could not be deaf to suggestions in word and look which 
came ill from a man to whom a woman had entrusted 
her honour. These doubts and fears returned to her 
now in her loneliness, in her new-born self -distrust ; there 
were times when she thought of her flight, not as a glori- 
ous vindication of her faith in her lover, but as a mad 
defiance of all the precious safe-guards in which it be- 
hoves a woman to enshrine her honour ; there were hours 
when the thought of what might have befallen her had 
Anthony not chanced upon her at Neufchatel, filled her 
with a burning shame. She was very young, very 
lonely; it seemed to her that all the lights by which 
she had hitherto guided her life were dimmed, and she 
had none to whom she could turn for comfort. Small 
wonder, then, if she moped alone, and fought her doubts 
and her fears in silence. 

So the days passed until Anthony was fully conva- 


A HAVEN OF PEACE 


£21 


lescent. Then one afternoon, as he lay on the terrace, 
with Louise and Peter seated beside him, he broached 
the subject of Sylvia to his friends. Down at the far 
end of the garden they could see her slim figure, pacing 
slowly to and fro, staring out over the sea. Anthony 
watched her for a few minutes, then turned suddenly 
to Louise. 

‘‘Mrs. Carew, every man is blind in his dealings with 
women. Tell me, then, have I been ill-advised in my 
interference with Miss Defraine’s affairs?’’ 

Louise glanced at him sharply. “How can I tell. Sir 
Anthony? I do not know this Mr. Wilton.” 

“To the best of my belief, he is a rare scoundrel,” 
retorted Anthony bluntly. 

“But — he loves her.” 

“Well — ^we will credit him with thinking so,” he 
agreed reluctantly. 

“And without question the child has given him her 
heart,” continued Louise slowly. 

Anthony looked away, and made no answer. 

Louise bent over her embroidery with a little pucker 
of anxiety between her brows. 

“ ’Tis a matter of some difficulty, I admit. Women 
have wed scoundrels ere now and lived happy. Do not 
the poets tell us that Love brings blindness?” 

“Yes,” interposed Peter drily, “but philosophers as- 
sure us that marriage is the rarest antidote.” 

Anthony made a movement of impatience. “But what 
can be done now in the affair ? ’ ’ 

Louise shook her head. “I do not think it can be any 
concern of ours. Sir Anthony. The matter must lie be- 
twixt Sylvia and her guardians.” 

Anthony hesitated. “The poor child is — so— so dem- 
med unhappy,” he said huskily. 

“Is that a matter for marvel? A woman. Sir An- 
thony, does not lightly forgo her love.” But, as she 


222 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


spoke, Louise’s face grew gentler, and she began slowly 
to fold her embroidery. 

‘‘You think, then, she is fretting for the fellow*?” 
asked Anthony jealously. 

“Assuredly,” said Louise in some surprise; “what 
else ? But trouble such as this every woman must fight 
alone.” 

Nevertheless she rose slowly to her feet and walked 
thoughtfully down the garden to join Sylvia. There 
was an unwonted look of pity in her eyes. 

For some time after Louise had left them the two men 
sat in silence; then Peter turned to his friend with a 
twinkle in his eyes. 

‘ ‘ The philosophers, Tony, exercise themselves mightily 
as to why it has pleased Dame Nature to furnish the 
earth so prodigally with women. For my part, I see in 
it small need for question, since it would appear every 
man demands at least three different women to see him 
through life.” 

Anthony turned lazily on his cushions. “I don’t take 
you.” 

“Why, look you,” continued Peter imperturbably, 
“there is first the woman he wants when he is in trouble, 
to nurse him, aid him, solace him after the buffets of 
the world; her he counts his friend. Then there is the 
woman he wants to adore, to kneel at her feet, to wor- 
ship her beauty, to spend his life-blood for a smile from 
her eyes, or waste his soul for a kiss ; the woman he must 
share with every man, yet holds eternally his. And 
lastly, there is the woman he wants to marry; and why 
he should want her, out of all the millions who pester 
this earth — well. Heaven that sends us our plagues and 
our blessings may understand the mystery, it is beyond 
man’s comprehension.” 

Anthony listened to Peter’s philosophy with a frown 
in his eyes, and yet he found it difficult to deny. For 


A HAVEN OF PEACE 


223 


had not three women come into his life — sturdy bachelor 
though he had accounted himself — in the space of three 
short months, no one of whom would he willingly lose? 
First, there was Louise, that quiet woman with the 
steady eyes, and cool strong hands, to whom he had 
clung in his weakness as a child might cling to its 
mother. And then there was the little Duchess, whose 
slightest look could set his heart a-beating with a sweet 
madness, who had power, did she choose to use it, to 
draw him ever from the ends of the earth to do her 
service. And lastly, there was Sylvia! Sylvia, who 
had refused him, defied him. Sylvia, with her innocent 
grey eyes and saucy chin and sweet girlish ways. And 
he wanted Sylvia with a fierce determination to possess 
her that waxed stronger every day. Verily, the Fates 
had taken their revenge on this scorner of the sex. 

He sighed and shook his head. ‘‘You^re right, Peter; 
we are amazing fickle rascals. But to my thinking still, 
a man of honour should find room in his heart for but 
one woman.’’ 

‘H’m with you there,” said Peter solemnly. ‘‘But 
the mischief is. Nature has endowed most men with a 
plaguy large heart, Tony, and half the troubles of the 
world spring from the fact that no woman yet has ever 
been content to share it.” 

“Yet if a man marry,” began Anthony thoughtfully. 

Peter rose to his feet and laid his hand on his friend’s 
shoulder. “If a man be rash enough to marry, he’ll 
do well to learn to turn his back on temptation. And 
in particular, Tony,” he added, with a twinkle in his 
eyes, “he’ll refuse all invitations to visit the Court at 
Versailles.” 

With this Parthian shot, Peter strolled off into the 
house, leaving Anthony to wonder, uncomfortably, how 
much he had revealed to his friend in the hours of his 
delirium. 


224 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


Meanwhile, Louise and Sylvia strolled up and down 
the lower terrace, discussing, with an immense affectation 
of interest, the subject of the latest fashion in stomachers. 
For betwixt them lay a wall of reserve which neither as 
yet possessed courage to break through. At length, at 
Louise’s suggestion, they left the garden and walked 
down towards the village of Cuckmere; a woman lay 
ill at one of the fishermen’s cottages and Louise pur- 
posed to visit her. As they passed the ‘^Blue Swan” 
they paused to speak to Mrs. Pettitt, who sat in the door- 
way nursing her baby. 

While they stood there, the door of the inner room 
opened and Sam Pettitt appeared, supporting a man 
who hobbled painfully towards them. 

‘^Miss Defraine !” he cried joyously, ‘‘Miss Defraine !” 

Sylvia turned to the new-comer, and fiushed crimson ; 
then she hurried to meet him. 

“Mr. Kirkpatrick!” she faltered, “I — I had not looked 
to see you here.” 

“Nor I you, madam, though I followed you so soon 
as my wounds would permit. I have been crazy to 
know what had become of you.” 

Sylvia turned to Louise. “This is Mr. Kirkpatrick, 
who knew my father, and who — rendered me much serv- 
ice recently — in France.” She flushed again as she 
spoke. 

Louise eyed Kirkpatrick doubtfully, wondering 
whether perchance he were an ally of Wilton. But in a 
minute her tender woman’s heart melted at sight of his 
obvious suffering. 

“Your wound is not yet healed,” she said quickly. 
“You must not stand.” She motioned to Pettitt to 
h^lp him to the settle, and hovered over him with a 
woman’s ever-ready desire to render aid to the suffering. 

He looked at her gratefully. “You are too good to 
me, madam. I fear my services to Miss Defraine were 


A HAVEN OF PEACE 


225 


poor indeed. The will was there, but not the power, 
thanks to Wilton and his pestilent sword. It’s my be- 
lief the devil himself fights for the fellow.” 

‘‘W — Wilton!” cried Sylvia in amazement. 

‘‘Yes — devil take the demmed traitor! I knew, 
madam, when I went out against him, how the affair 
must end; he wields the trickiest sword in Christen- 
dom. I’d give my right hand for the chance to take 
vengeance on his cursed treachery.” 

“But — I — I do not understand you,” faltered Sylvia. 
“Of whom are you speaking?” 

But here Louise intervened. Ever since she had di- 
vined the fact that Kirkpatrick was in pain, she had 
longed to take him under her care, but prudence bade 
her refrain from proffering hospitality. Now, however, 
learning that he held Robert Wilton an enemy, she 
judged there could be no danger to Sylvia in admitting 
Kirkpatrick to her company; promptly she placed her 
house at his disposal. 

“This is no place for a wounded man, sir,” she urged 
gently. “Miss Defraine tells me she owes you much 
gratitude. You must permit us to pay our dues.” 

Kirkpatrick’s face showed his eagerness to accept this 
invitation, but he hesitated. 

“You’re amazing kind, madam, but I’m thinking 
you’ve maybe small knowledge of the man you bid to 
your house.” 

Louise smiled. “One, sir, who serves women in trou- 
ble. That is surely enough.” 

Kirkpatrick faced her frankly. “Ay, but you must 
understand, madam, I am a servant of King James.” 

“I cannot think, sir, any woman will hold you the 
less in esteem for that, ’ ’ she answered with a low laugh. 
“Pettitt shall harness his horse and drive you up to the 
house. I will go speak with him at once. Come, 
Sylvia!” 


^26 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


Sylvia meekly submitted to be hurried away. Her 
mind was in a whirl of bewilderment and fear. She 
could find no meaning in Kirkpatrick’s words, but re- 
solved to await more private occasion to question him. 

Anthony’s face, when he learned who was to be his 
fellow-guest, was an amusing study; but he was not 
wholly displeased. He foresaw that explanations would 
be necessary, but trusted that the fiery Jacobite would 
accept his apologies for the trick he had played him. 
He hoped their first encounter might be private, but the 
Pates decreed otherwise ; the whole party was assembled 
at dinner when Thomas Kirkpatrick appeared. 

Directly the Jacobite entered the room his glance fell 
upon Anthony. He stopped dead, and his face grew 
white with anger. For a moment he hesitated, then 
turned to Louise with a curt bow. 

‘‘I’ll not trespass on your hospitality, madam,” he 
said shortly. “I do not sit down to meat with trait- 
ors.” 

Louise stared at him in amazement. “Why — ^what 
in Heaven’s name ?” 

But Anthony deemed it time to interfere. He rose 
slowly and crossed to Kirkpatrick. 

“I’ll admit, sir, that our last meeting was — er — 
marred by ill-feeling. But I was pledged to bring Miss 
Defraine back to her friends and — frankly, sir, I was 
at that time scarce responsible for my actions. If, on 
that occasion, I said or did anything unworthy, why, I 
am ready to offer my apologies.” 

Peter joined the two men. “ ’Pon my soul, sir!” he 
said testily, “when two gentlemen have already dis- 
cussed their differences at the sword ’s point, to my mind 
it’s plaguily ill-judged to bring up the matter again.” 

Kirkpatrick flushed. “I should be willing to accept 
this man’s explanations of what befell at Dieppe. But 
I repeat I cannot sit down to meat with a traitor.” 


A HAVEN OF PEACE 


227 


^‘Do you apply that term to Sir Anthony ClavertonT’ 
asked Peter sharply. 

Kirkpatrick looked bewildered. apply it to Mr. 
Kobert Wilton,” he said shortly. 

‘"Wilton!” cried Peter and Louise in amazement. 

Sylvia rose suddenly to her feet, steadying herself by 
holding on to the table; her frightened eyes shone in 
her white face. But all were intent upon Kirkpatrick, 
and her movements passed unnoted. 

Anthony suddenly broke into a low laugh. “Peste!” 
he muttered, “I had clean forgot. I fear I deceived 
you on the occasion of our first meeting, sir. My affairs 
were private and I journeyed under an assumed name. 
The matter had slipped my memory. I offer apologies 
and assure you that I am in truth Anthony Claverton, 
and have never dipped my fingers into any Jacobite 
pottage.” 

Kirkpatrick eyed him doubtfully. “I still fail to 
comprehend, sir, why you chose to take upon yourself 
the name of Kobert Wilton!” 

“To be frank with you, I scarce know myself,” an- 
swered Anthony slowly; “but it was convenient to be 
taken for a Jacobite, so I assumed the name of one like 
to be known at St. Germains.” 

Kirkpatrick gave vent to a sharp imprecation. 
“Known! known!” he cried, “ay, verily, he is known 
— as the dirtiest traitor unhung; a man who wormed 
himself into our confidence to betray us, whose hands 
are befouled by the blood-money of Maclean and Guis- 
card.” 

On a sudden, Sylvia stood before him, her face white 
as her kerchief, her hands clasped tightly on her breast. 
“Mr. Kirkpatrick,” she said in a low, unsteady voice, 
“you knew my father. Can you swear to me, by his 
memory, that what you say of Mr. Wilton is the truth?” 

Anthony took a quick step forward, as though he 


^^8 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


would spare her the blow that must fall, but Kirkpatrick, 
knowing nothing of her interest in Wilton, answered 
promptly : ‘ H do not defame a man without sure knowl- 
edge of his deserts, madam. I swear to you that every 
word I have spoken is the truth!” 

For a minute there was dead silence in the room ; then 
Sylvia gave a low, shuddering sob, followed by another 
and another in quick succession ; she dropped her hands 
with a piteous little gesture of helplessness, then turned 
and groped her way to the door, blinded by tears. 

Louise hesitated a second, then hurried after the sob- 
bing girl, while Peter bestirred himself to explain what 
he might of the matter to the bewildered Kirkpatrick. 

But Anthony strode away from the two men, out into 
the sunlit terrace, and there, sinking into a seat he buried 
his head in his arms and sat long silent in an agony of 
pity for a woman ’s breaking heart. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


A TRUCE 

“When Life gropes 
Feebly, for the path where fell 
Light last, on the evening slopes; 

One friend in that path will be.” 

S YLVIA did not appear again that day, and the fol- 
lowing morning Louise announced her intention of 
resigning her invalids to Peter’s care, and herself escort- 
ing the girl back to her godmother. 

‘Ht is the child’s wish to return to London,” she ex- 
plained to Anthony; ‘‘and for my part I hold it wise.” 

“How does she take the knowledge of the fellow’s 
villainy?” asked Anthony anxiously. 

Louise hesitated. “I have not all her confidence, but 
— I fear for the nonce it has shaken her faith in man- 
kind. A woman robbed of her love may yet live out 
her life with courage, but if she be cheated of her faith 
in love, What remains to her but bitterness and despair?” 

She drew herself up suddenly, and stood with clenched 
hands gazing out to sea; her voice shook with passion. 

“Sir Anthony, an I were a man, I should kill that 
blackguard.” 

Anthony did not move. “How would that advantage 
her, madam?” he asked quietly. 

Louise dropped her hands with a little gesture of des- 
pair. “ ’Tis the shame — ” she said huskily, “the shame 
that is — ^killing her!” 

Anthony’s face grew white. “I do not take you,” 
he said slowly. “What shame should she fear? None 
229 


^30 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


save her friends know that she favoured the scoundrel.” 

‘‘She knows it,” answered Louise sadly. “She knows 
that she gave her love and her loyalty to a traitor. That 
suffices.” 

There was a little silence. Then Anthony rose and 
laid his hand upon her arm. “Mrs. Carew, what can I 
do for her?” he asked hoarsely. “I — I’d give my life 
gladly to spare her a minute’s suffering. What can I 
do?” 

Louise looked out across the sea, and on a sudden her 
face seemed to grow older, and the light died out of her 
eyes. She gave a little nod, like one whose fears are con- 
firmed, and her lips twisted in a faint smile of self-mock- 
ery. So for a minute she stood in silence. 

“Give me your counsel, madam,” pleaded Anthony. 
“I — Heaven help me! — I love her so.” 

Louise squared her shoulders and turned resolutely 
away from the sea. And if her face was pale and her 
lips trembled a little, the man beside her was too pre- 
occupied to note it. 

“You love her?” she repeated gently. “I am glad 
on’t. The love of a loyal gentleman is a safer balm for 
self-contempt than the homage of the town. But let 
her see your devotion; let her be sure on it; and — be 
patient to wait your reward.” 

“God bless you, madam!” he cried fervently. “And 
for this scoundrel, Wilton ” 

“Hush!” cried Louise softly. “Sylvia is coming.” 

Anthony turned quickly and gave a start of surprise. 
He had expected a white-faced trembling girl, crushed 
to the earth by the blow which had fallen upon her, 
looking appealingly for pity and support. He saw be- 
fore him a brilliant beauty, exquisitely dressed in the 
height of the mode, curled and powdered, her cheeks 
tinged with rouge, her eyes shining with unnatural light. 
As she came down the steps of the terrace she threw a 


A TRUCE 


^31 


laughing word over her shoulder to Peter Wildmore, 
who followed in her wake, and then turned and smiled 
at Anthony with a deliberate challenge to his admira- 
tion. 

^‘Good morrow, Sir Anthony. Are you sufficiently 
recovered to escort us to Town to-day? I vow I’m 
staled to death o’ the country; I’d as lief be in New- 
gate.” 

Anthony was too astounded to make reply, but Sylvia 
rattled on unheeding his silence: ‘T hold ’twere amaz- 
ing cruelty to rob the town longer of company it was 
wont to swear it found so marvellous alluring. At what 
hour do we set out, madam?” 

‘‘At noon, if that does not inconvenience you,” an- 
swered Louise gently. 

“Faith! the sooner the better. My Lord Wildmore, 
will you not escort me to the village to take leave of the 
worthy Pettitt, and on the way propound to me what 
the town says concerning my absence?” 

She gave a ripple of laughter and passed on, Peter 
following obediently in her wake. But Anthony looked 
after her with eyes full of pain ; it were surely easier to 
have seen that golden head crushed to the ground with 
misery than to read such reckless defiance, such bitter- 
ness, in the face of this heart-broken girl. He shut his 
lips sharply over an imprecation, and turned to Louise. 

“You are right, madam,” he said grimly, “the man 
who has done this thing deserves to die. ’ ’ 

To his surprise Louise nodded absently; it was clear 
her mind was occupied wtih another matter. 

“Sir Anthony,” she began nervously, “concerning 
the three thousand guineas which I owe you ” 

Anthony started. “Madam,” he cried reproachfully, 
“have you not paid the debt a thousandfold? But for 
your care, I scarce think I should be alive to-day. I. 
entreat you speak no more of the matter..” 


232 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


But Louise shook her head obstinately. ‘Ht is my 
desire that it be paid immediately. I can raise the 
money on this property and ’’ 

‘‘You shall do no such thing,” he interrupted sharply. 

Would you hang another millstone round your neck? 
If indeed you will not leave the matter as it stands, at 
least hold the money as a loan, and pay one hundred 
guineas yearly till it be cleared. I swear I’ll take no 
other ! ’ ’ 

She drew herself up haughtily. ‘‘You must leave me 
to manage my own affairs, Sir Anthony. It is my wish 
to quit myself as soon as may be of the debt I owe you.” 

He looked at her steadily. “Has aught occurred, 
madam, to — strain our friendship?” he asked quietly. 

She flushed, and laughed nervously. “Certes, no. 
But seeing you hope presently to wed Miss Defraine, it 
is not seemly ” 

He stopped her. “That hope seems little like to be 
realised. But were it even now on the eve of fulfilment, 
you have judged hardly of me if you hold me one like to 
let even love tarnish friendship. Let me continue to 
serve you, madam.” 

He noted curiously that her hand, as it lay on the stone 
wall of the terrace, trembled a little, and that her face 
was pale. She stood a moment silent; then she turned 
to him deliberately and held out her hand with the frank 
gesture so characteristic of her. 

“We women boast our loyalty, but methinks some- 
times in the matter of friendship we have much to learn 
from men. You shall have your way in this matter. 
Sir Anthony, but rest assured I shall And other means 
to pay my debt.” 

She turned away with a smile and nod, and walked 
briskly into the house, leaving Anthony alone in the sun- 
shine, his brows knit deep in thought. 

Half an hour passed, and then Peter Wildmore and 


A TRUCE 


^33 


Sylvia reappeared and strolled up to join him. Peter 
wore the puzzled air of a man who is vainly trying to 
solve the problem of feminine complexity, and at the 
same time fearful to venture himself too deeply in the 
study. Sylvia dismissed him with a smile and wave of 
her fan, and seated herself beside Anthony. 

‘‘Are you prepared to ride with us to Town, Sir An- 
thony?’’ she asked gaily. “My Lord Wildmore pro- 
tests he must to Moorstone Abbey. But, sure, you will 
not leave two poor women to stale in one another’s com- 
pany for six mortal hours?” 

“To say truth, Mistress Sylvia, I have affairs should 
have taken me to Town so soon as I could limp to a 
coach, but ” 

She gave a little forced laugh. ‘ ‘ There is small reason 
to explain. Sir Anthony, ’twas clear enow what held you 
here. But as Mrs. Carew purposes to accompany me, 
will you not journey in our company?” 

Anthony started. “Mrs. Carew!” he murmured 
amazedly. 

“Assuredly. You are to be felicitated. I hold her in 
all things worthy any man’s devotion.” 

Now Anthony waxed excessively annoyed, for Sylvia’s 
words found echo in the thought which had troubled 
him for the past half-hour. Yet he found nothing to 
reply. Louise’s advice to give Sylvia assurance of his 
devotion flashed through his mind, but he judged the 
occasion ill-timed. Moreover, few men whose love is 
genuine are prepared to pour forth a passionate declara- 
tion at a moment’s notice. He sat for a moment in 
awkward silence, and then replied stiffly : 

“I do indeed hold our hostess in the highest esteem, 
madam, and if she and you will permit, it will give me 
the greatest pleasure to journey to Town in your com- 
pany.” 

This reply appeared to give Sylvia only a modicum 


234f 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


of satisfaction. She wrinkled her brows and nodded 
thoughtfully. Presently she rose to her feet, and turn- 
ing her back upon her companion gazed fixedly out to 
sea. 

‘‘Sir Anthony,” she began slowly, “it has pleased 
you to interfere considerably in my affairs.” 

“My interference has been unavoidable, madam,” he 
answered quickly. “But if aught in the — the manner 
— of it has annoyed you, I offer my most humble apolo- 
gies. I fear I was guilty of a — shall we say — a lack of 
ceremony ? ’ ’ 

An unexpected smile of recollection dimpled her cheek. 
“ ’Twas perchance scarce a moment for ceremony,” she 
said, flushing. “I learn from my Lord Wildmore that 
you were in danger. I — I owe you gratitude for burden- 
ing yourself with my company.” 

Anthony waved aside her thanks. “Egad, madam! 
our encounter was most opportune. Twas amazing con- 
venient for me to shelter myself behind your petticoats.” 

Sylvia shook her head. “My Lord Wildmore protests 
that I endangered you. That being so, I find it difficult 
to understand your reason for interfering with me, un- 
less ” She stopped suddenly and bit her lip. 

“Unless what, madam?” he asked softly, leaning to- 
wards her. 

She looked at him a moment in silence, twisting her 
white hands nervously together. Then she turned away. 

“Unless you have a passion for interference in mat- 
ters which do not concern you,” she answered demurely. 

Anthony drew back. “ We ’ll leave it at that, madam, ’ ’ 
he said, with a touch of annoyance. 

Her face fell; she turned from him again and stared 
out to sea. “You once proffered me your friendship,” 
she said at length, in a low voice. 

Anthony looked up quickly. “I did, madam,” he an- 
swered drily, “but you preferred my enmity.” 


A TRUCE 


235 


She drew in her breath with a little sigh. ‘‘It is scarce 
— generous to remember all I said in — in a rash humour, ’ ’ 
she faltered. 

Anthony laughed softly. “Faith, madam! during the 
greater part of our acquaintance you have rated 
me soundly for my demerits. Would you have 
me forget the lessons you have read me in self-con- 
tempt ? ’ ’ 

She turned her head quickly and looked at him with 
startled eyes. “Oh, please! — please!’’ she faltered re- 
proachfully. 

But Anthony continued imperturbably: “You have 
assured me a dozen times of your hatred, Mistress 
Sylvia, and convinced me how well ’tis deserved. 
Would you have me forget the enormity of my conduct 
at Dieppe and Neufchatel?” 

She was facing him now, her eyes wide with amaze- 
ment, her face a picture of dismay. 

“But I — I did not know ” she stammered. 

Still Anthony continued unmoved: “You have 
painted my character for me a score of times, madam, 
in the vilest o’ colours, and imputed the most demmed 
rascally motives to my conduct. Would you have me 
forget that you were constrained to banish me from 
among your acquaintances?” 

But Sylvia would endure no more. She took two 
quick steps towards him; impulsively she held out her 
hands with a gesture of entreaty. “I would have you 
forget all — all — ” she^cried piteously, “save that I am 
in sore need of a friend.” 

No premeditated appeal, no humble request for par- 
don could have gone more directly to Anthony’s heart 
than this impulsive cry of loneliness. Sylvia was essen- 
tially of those women from whom a cry for help 
blots out all past offences, and Anthony’s chivalrous 
nature was one to glory in serving her. He sprang to 


236 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


his feet and took her outstretched hands; a little smile 
of tender amusement lurked in his eyes. 

trust you will hold me always at your service,” 
he said very gently. 

Sylvia lowered her lashes over the appealing grey 
eyes. ‘‘Have you a mind to intervene once more 
in a matter that does not concern you?” she asked 
slowly. 

“With all my heart, madam,” he answered lightly. 
“What would you have me do?” 

“Contrive that I may meet Mr. Robert Wilton.” 

Anthony dropped her hands and stepped back. 
“Good heavens, madam! Are you not yet convinced 
of that rascal’s unworthiness?” 

For a second her lips trembled pitifully, and it seemed 
as though her courage would desert her, but she con- 
trolled her voice and answered steadily: 

“I cannot doubt the testimony of Mr. Kirkpatrick. 
But — after what lies betwixt us, it is but just to Mr. 
Wilton that he should be given occasion to — to defend 
himself.” 

“And if the smooth-tongued rogue lies to your sat- 
isfaction, you will still believe in him!” xjried Anthony 
bitterly. 

Sylvia flushed. “He will not lie to me,” she said 
quietly. 

“Has he not already done so when he promised to 
take you to St. Germains? Ah, Mistress Sylvia! be 
advised. Let me bear to him the message of your dis- 
missal. ’ ’ 

“Do you dream he would believe it from any but 
me?” she asked sadly. “No, I must see him, if it be 
only to assure him that — all is over between us.” 

Her voice shook a little on the last words, and she 
sank down on to the seat. 

Anthony looked down at her with a world of pity in 


A TRUCE m 

his eyes. But prudence still warned him against com- 
plying with her request. 

‘‘Mistress Sylvia/’ he urged gently, “I will assist 
you in this matter if you will promise me that you will 
not see the fellow — alone. Let Mrs. Carew or — or Lady 
Defraine be with you.” 

She sat a moment silent, weighing his words, then 
turned to him quickly. 

“No. If a woman be with me he will think I am 
constrained to act thus by my guardian. He must see 
it is of my own will that I dismiss him. But if you 
wish, Sir Anthony, I am willing that you should be 
present when I meet Mr. Wilton.” 

“I, madam?” He looked at her in horrified amaze- 
ment. 

“Why not, sir?” she asked quietly. “The matter 
is nothing to you, and he cannot suppose that you could 
influence my will.” 

“Egad, madam!” he answered drily, “ ’tis precisely 
what he will suppose.” 

“Then he will be amazing foolish,” she answered 
composedly. “But it grows late, I must prepare for 
our journey. Will you assist me in this matter, or 
must I turn elsewhere?” 

But greatly though he disliked the thought of such 
a meeting, Anthony could not endure that Sylvia should 
look to another for a service he refused. “Heaven 
help me!” he muttered, as he looked down on her fair 
face enshrined in its golden aureole of hair, “to what 
mad folly would I not agree, to save her a moment’s 
trouble?” The thought of his weakness annoyed him; 
he gave a little laugh of self-mockery and answered 
brusquely : 

“I’ll serve you, madam, to the devil if need be. 
Where, think you, shall I meet with Mr. Wilton?” 

She looked puzzled at his tone. “Mr. Wilton is 


238 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


always to be heard of at ^The Sign of the Golden 
Dolphin’ in Fleet Street. But I know not if he be yet 
returned from France.” 

‘‘I’ll ascertain. My own affairs take me to the 
‘Golden Dolphin’ to-night. You shall hear from me 
by noon to-morrow.” 

“Yes. Let there be no delay,” she answered en- 
treatingly. 

Something in her words, in her desperate longing to 
have the matter concluded, touched him deeply. He 
realised how greatly she dreaded this interview, how 
she feared this intolerable sullying of the sweet dream 
of her love; and yet her loyalty, her sense of justice, 
would not permit her to dismiss this unworthy lover 
without giving him the chance to clear his character. 
Yielding to a sudden impulse he sat down beside her 
and laid his hand on the two white hands clasped so 
tightly on her lap. 

“Mistress Sylvia,” he said gently, “be of good 
courage. Though one man slip, believe me, the world 
is yet a place for noble deeds, and holds many a man 
worthy of e’en such a love as yours.” 

She looked at him for a moment most curiously, then 
she rose slowly to her feet. “I think, Sir Anthony,” 
she said quietly, “there is small need for you to teU 
me that.” 

Then she turned and walked slowly into the house, 
leaving Anthony staring after her in puzzled bewilder- 
ment. 


CHAPTER XXV 


A FAREWELL 

“All’s over, then? Does truth sound bitter 
As one at first believes?” 

T he trio set out for London at noon, and arrived 
at eight o^clock. Sylvia throughout the journey 
chattered and laughed unceasingly, playing the role of 
brilliant Society beauty which she had chosen to adopt. 
It sat ill upon her childish figure and innocent fair 
face, but it was her sole armour against the pecking 
daws of the world to which she was returning. 

Their arrival at Lady Sophia’s threatened to prove 
embarrassing. Sir John Defraine had journeyed up 
from Gloucestershire on news of Sylvia’s disappearance, 
and still remained in Town; his attitude towards his 
niece was one of fiercest indignation. Lady Sophia 
was severe, and Lady Defraine scandalised. It was 
clear the runaway must expect small sympathy from 
her family circle. But she played her part bravely, 
and by virtue of her brilliancy and beauty succeeded in 
disarming at least Sir John’s anger before supper was 
over. In truth, her guardians were so relieved at her 
safe return and unquestioning submission, they were 
not disposed to deal too harshly with the girl. An- 
thony, of whose concern in her return Peter had care- 
fully informed them, received a hearty welcome, and 
was amazed to find himself for the nonce a hero to his 
aunt. He would have felt disposed to improve the shin- 
ing hour, and again advance his petition for pecuniary 
assistance, but that he shrank from the thought of 
239 


240 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


making capital out of Sylvia’s misfortunes. It was 
enough for him to know that he was assured a welcome 
at the house which sheltered the girl he loved. 

Despite Sir John’s protests he took his leave early, 
intent upon visiting the ‘‘Golden Dolphin” that even- 
ing and disburdening himself both of Sylvia’s message 
to Wilton and Lefroy’s commission. He carried the 
Cordon-bleu ever in his breast, and was impatient to 
rid himself of a charge which had already cost him 
so much. As he traversed the dark streets to the 
“Golden Dolphin,” his hand was ever on his sword, 
and his eyes glanced quickly from side to side in fear 
of attack. He had not yet recovered his full strength, 
and coming as he did from the quiet security of the 
country he found his nerves still unpleasantly jumpy 
when exposed to the dangers of London at night. 

It was with a sigh of relief that he reached his des- 
tination unmolested and found the tavern apparently 
empty save for the host. But the relief was short- 
lived; his demand for news of Lefroy’s whereabouts was 
received with suspicion. All that he could learn was 
that neither he nor Tom Eccles was in London, but any 
message he might have for them should be safely con- 
veyed. Neither bribery nor threats could elicit further 
information from the host of the tavern, and finding 
that his persistence only drew more suspicion upon him- 
self he was obliged once more to pocket the Cordon- 
bleu and content himself with a message to Lefroy that 
he had fulfilled his commission. He feared equal diffi- 
culties in learning Wilton’s whereabouts, but soon dis- 
covered that the safety of the latter was of small mo- 
ment to the worthy host. He jerked his head towards 
the inner room on Anthony’s enquiry for him and 
turned back to his supper. 

It was not without certain misgivings that Anthony 
turned in search of Wilton. The whole affair of this 


A FAREWELL 


Ml 


message was repugnant to him. He would have wished 
to avoid all chance of a meeting with his rival until his 
commission from Lefroy was fulfilled and Louise’s 
debt paid in full; he knew that the most rigid self- 
control would be needed if a present quarrel were to be 
averted. 

He pushed open the door indicated by the host and 
entered slowly. The room was small and dimly lighted, 
at first glance it appeared to be empty, but presently 
he distinguished Wilton’s tall figure stretched on a 
settle by the empty grate. Anthony supposed him to 
be asleep, but no sooner had he advanced into the circle 
of lamplight than with a cry of rage Wilton sprang to 
his feet and stood confronting him, hand on sword. 

For a minute they faced one another in silence, then 
Wilton spoke, with a grim threat in his voice. 

“By Heaven! Sir Anthony, ’twould seem you value 
your life lightly that you seek me here. I purpose to 
kill you for that trick you played me at Neufchatel.” 

“To fight me, you mean,” retorted Anthony coldly. 
“For my part, I ask nothing better than to meet you 
when occasion offers; but for the present I am the 
bearer of a message.” 

“From Lefroy? The devil take him and all his 
crew; I’ll stand no more of his hectoring.” 

“A laudable resolution,” answered Anthony coolly. 
“But I know nothing of Lefroy. My message is from 
Miss Defraine.” 

“From Sylvia!” As he spoke her name his whole 
manner changed, his face lighted up with new hope, 
and his voice grew soft and tender. Anthony eyed 
him jealously. 

“Where is she? What will she have me do?” cried 
Wilton. 

“She will ride in the meadows west of Hyde Park 
the day after to-morrow at eight o’ the clock in the 


243 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


morning. If you will meet her there, she will herself 
tell you what she purposes.” 

Wilton looked up suspiciously. ^‘What do you 
mean?” he asked. ‘'Has — has aught befallen her?” 

For a moment Anthony hesitated. But he had no 
mind to warn Wilton and give him opportunity to pre- 
pare his defence. He shook his head. 

“I have given you her message, I have no more to do 
in this affair save to carry to her your answer. Will 
you meet her?” 

“Why, assuredly I will,” answered Wilton, but he 
still eyed Anthony with puzzled brows. 

“Then I need no longer disturb you,” answered 
Anthony, turning towards the door. The sight of 
Wilton with his handsome face and gallant manner 
always roused his jealousy; he feared for his self-con- 
trol. 

But Wilton laid a detaining hand upon his arm. 

“Wait, sir. I would know more of this business. 
Why does Sylvia choose you as her messenger? Are 
you friend or enemy?” 

Anthony drew away his arm. “There is small need 
to ask that question, Mr. Wilton,” he said stiffly. “I 
beg you will hold me, in all things, your enemy.” 

‘ ‘ Then — Sylvia ? ’ ’ 

“Miss Defraine, sir, has learned to know you — at 
last.” 

Had his mind been less full of the recollection of 
Sylvia’s misery, Anthony could surely have found it in 
his heart to pity Robert Wilton when he faced him now 
and watched hope die in his eyes. He realised that 
after his own fashion this man had loved Sylvia, to lose 
her now was to be banished from Paradise. But An- 
thony had small room in his heart for pity for the man 
who had lured Sylvia from her home. He turned 
coolly on his heel and left him still standing in the dim 


A FAREWELL 


243 


circle of lamplight, staring at the ruin of his hopes. 

Anthony had small difficulty in obtaining permission 
to ride with Sylvia and Louise in Hyde Park on the 
morning fixed for the rendezvous; it was evident that 
Sir John still welcomed him as a possible suitor for his 
ward and pressed him upon her company. Nor had 
he any difficulty in arranging that Louise should insist 
upon turning homewards with the groom when they 
had passed beyond the usual haunts of Society, leaving 
the others to continue their ride alone. Sylvia left all 
these manoeuvres in his hands, while pale and silent 
she rode to her tryst. 

Anthony watched her anxiously. It was a perfect 
May day, a morning to awaken in youth all the de- 
licious tenderness of love. He feared her resolution 
when matched against the pleading of the man who so 
long had held her loyalty. 

At last they saw Wilton walking towards them, 
point device’’ in attire, his handsome face, his 
large dark eyes all aglow with love. Sylvia drew 
rein. 

“Be so kind as to help me to dismount,” she said 
in a low voice. 

Anthony lifted her to the ground and drew her 
horse’s rein over his arm. Then he turned and led the 
horses back towards a little copse at one corner of the 
meadow and there waited in a torment of bitterest 
jealousy. Sylvia advanced slowly towards Wilton, 
her face was very white, her whole body a-tremble. He 
took her hands and pressed them passionately to his 
lips. 

“Sylvia! My own! . . . Sweetheart!” he mur- 

mured. “Ah, why did you leave me at Neufchatel? 
Why did you let them take you from me?” 

The sound of his voice, that voice whose tones she 
had loved to hear, melted her heart. Her grey eyes 


244 THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 

filled with tears. Surely — surely he could not deceive 
her? 

‘‘Why did you doubt me, dearest?” he continued 
passionately. “By this time we should have been at 
St. Germains, betrothed by the Queen’s consent.” 

A sudden shiver passed over her. She drew away 
her hands. 

“Robert,” she said gravely, “tell me the truth. 
Had I not been carried away from you at Neufchatel, 
what — what did you purpose to do with me?” 

He stared at her, still unsuspicious of what she had 
learned. “To take you to St. Germains,” he repeated. 

Her eyes grew suddenly hard, she faced him steadily. 

“Robert, I have met a certain Thomas Kirkpatrick, 
who was friend to Maclean and — I know you could 
never have set foot in St. Germains.” 

Doubtless, had he been prepared, he would have had 
his story ready, but he had never dreamed of the pos- 
sibility of Sylvia learning of his J acobite betrayal. He 
hesitated, stammered, sought for words, broke out at 
length into an eloquent self -justification. But his face 
had betrayed him. 

She drew further from him, and now her cheeks 
crimsoned and her eyes blazed. “What would you 
have done with me,” she whispered again, “had I not 
been saved from your hands?” 

“No harm; I swear, Sylvia, I would never have 
harmed you,” he cried, and fell to a passionate protest- 
ing of his devotion; but his words trailed into silence 
when he met the look in her eyes. 

“I gave you all my heart and all my loyalty, Robert, 
and you played traitor to my love, as you played 
traitor to the cause my father died for. There’s no 
need for more words betwixt us.” 

“But — ^you love me, Sylvia,” he cried desperately. 
“You love me — you cannot send me away.” 


A FAREWELL 


245 


‘‘I loved you — ^yes/’ she answered, almost in a whis- 
per. ‘‘Heaven pity me! All my days my heart will 
be filled with shame that it could have loved so slight 
a thing.’’ 

He stood a moment, stricken dumb with shame; then 
a sudden rage flashed across his face. 

“I shall not let you go,” he cried. “You are mine. 
A thousand times you have sworn to wed me. I will 
have you yet, though a dozen Clavertons stood in my 
path 1 ’ ’ 

But she had no fear of his threats, only her eyes filled 
once more with tears that her love-dreams should be 
ended thus. 

“Do not speak so,” she said gently. “No one save 
yourself could have forced me to be disloyal to you. 
It is you alone who have killed our love, but it is dead 
and can never live again. Farewell.” 

He strode to her side and put his arm about her. 
“Sylvia! Sylvia!” he murmured in passionate plead- 
ing. 

She stood a moment trembling in his embrace; then 
she gave a low sob and bowed her head. “I am so 
sorry for you,” she said piteously, “so sorry for you. 
But it is over.” 

Gently she disengaged herself from his arm, and 
without another word walked away across the meadow 
towards Anthony, while Wilton, with a low impreca- 
tion, turned on his heel and swung off in the opposite 
direction. 

By the time Sylvia rejoined her escort her eyes were 
dried and her face to all seeming serene. Anthony had 
heard nothing of her conversation with Wilton, he had 
only watched the manner of their parting, and that, 
viewed from a distance, by no means wore the appear- 
ance of an angry dismissal of a rascally suitor. There- 
fore, as he rode homeward by the side of his silent 


24f6 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


companion he was filled with gravest anxieties and tor- 
tured by jealous fears. In vain he furtively studied 
Sylvia’s face for a clue to the affair, he could read 
nothing there save a resolute courage to give the world 
no inkling of her trouble. 

When he lifted her from her horse at Lady Sophia’s 
door she looked for one brief moment up into his eyes 
and murmured gently: thank you for your serv- 

ices.” Then she passed on into the house and he saw 
her no more till evening. 

That night Lady Sophia held a rout in honour of her 
guests. Sylvia and Louise were the centre of a crowd 
the evening through. The unexpected disappearance 
and simultaneous return to Town of two celebrated 
beauties gave the wits occasion for many couplets 
greatly admired by their composers, and such gallants 
as Harry Ford, who boasted themselves always nearest 
in favour with the Toast of the day, found much ex- 
ercise for their ingenuity in holding the balance of ad- 
miration betwixt the two. But Sylvia undoubtedly 
reigned as queen of the hour, and was so daring in her 
wit, so brilliant in her beauty, that malicious tongues 
speedily began to devise some scandalous explanation 
of her recent disappearance. 

Anthony found it impossible to obtain any private 
speech either with her or with Louise. He was in no 
mood for other company, and after drifting aimlessly 
about the rooms for an hour or more and listening to 
Sylvia’s merry sallies he retired home sulkily to his 
bed, more than ever convinced that the interview of the 
morning could have been no final parting, that Sylvia’s 
gaiety could not hide a broken heart. 

The next morning his suspicions were verified. He 
slept late, and was supping his chocolate when a note 
was brought to hirn from Louise Carew. He opened it 


A FAREWELL 247 

leisurely and ran his eyes over the contents. It was 
but a scrawl of two lines, and thus it ran: 

‘‘Sylvia has disappeared. She left the house at sun- 
rise this morning, and ’tis rumoured she was seen in 
a coach in Piccadilly with Robert Wilton/’ 


CHAPTER XXVI 


THE LOSING OF THE BLUE RIBAND 

‘‘I do accept my madness, and would die 
To save from some slight shame one simple girl.” 

NTHONY read the note thrice in low muttering 



tones, as though he found it impossible to un- 
derstand its contents. His face grew white, his lips 
hardened into a straight line. He drew in his breath 
with a low-toned curse and, pushing away his tray of 
chocolate, rose heavily to his feet. The blow which he 
had dreaded had fallen, and now that it had happened 
he realised how little he had really believed in the pos- 
sibility of treachery, how much he had unconsciously 
built upon his new hopes of ultimately winning Sylvia. 
But it would seem she had never really intended to 
give up Wilton, she had tricked them all with her pre- 
tended disillusionment and proffered submission and 
had ridden away with him, laughing at their simplicity. 
Anthony ^s face flamed with passion at the thought of 
Wilton ^s triumph, he clenched his fists and strode 
fiercely up and down the room in a desperate effort to 
regain his self-control. 

But presently gentler thoughts prevailed. He 
thought of Sylvia ^s steadfast eyes, her loyalty, her 
transparent honesty, he thought with a sudden chok- 
ing tenderness of her youth. Surely it was not all a 
trick, surely she had intended to part with Wilton when 
she sought his help for the meeting, only the man’s ly- 
ing tongue had weakened her resolution and won her 


LOSING OF THE BLUE RIBAND M9 


to his way. Surely, he argued, it must be so, for if he 
lose faith in her he must lose faith in womankind ; never 
yet had any woman eyes so full of truth. 

Presently he completed his toilet, and with heavy 
heart walked across the Mall and took a boat to Chelsea. 
The Mall was full ; he passed many groups of acquaint- 
ances in eager converse, and from their curious glances, 
and from certain words he caught in passing, he realised 
that the rumour of Sylvia’s flight was already the sub- 
ject of gossip. The thought of her name thus trailed 
in the mire of common scandal infuriated him; there 
was a dangerous look in his eyes as he mounted to the 
drawing-room of Lady Sophia’s house, a look that be- 
tokened ill for any who should speak evil of Sylvia in 
his company. 

Louise ran to meet him when he entered the drawing- 
room, with a little cry of impatience. 

‘‘Ah, you are here at last! What have you done? 
Have you found her?” 

“F— found her?” stammered Anthony. “No.” 

“Have you done nothing all this hour?” she cried 
angrily. 

He stared at her. “What remains to be done? If 
she has gone with Wilton, knowing what she does — 
what boots it to intervene further?” 

To his amaze Louise beat her hands together and gave 
a little cry of anger. “7/ she has gone with him. Do 
you tell me. Sir Anthony, that you believe she has gone 
with him willingly?” 

“Why — what else?” he stammered. 

“Oh, you men!” she cried despairingly. “What 
weather-vanes you paint us women ! Fie, Sir An- 
thony! You know Sylvia, you — ^you love her. Can 
you dream her capable of such treachery?” 

A sudden hope leapt in his heart; he strode up to 
Louise and seized her arm flercely. 


250 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


‘‘Do you believe that she has been carried off against 
her will?” he cried hoarsely. 

She nodded. “My faith on it. Did she not assure 
you that the meeting yesterday was final? Would she 
so stoop to trick you into aiding her plans? Can you 
believe it of her? Oh, for shame, for shame! Love 
must have faith to be worthy.” 

Anthony stood silent, his brain in a whirl of new 
hopes and dying suspicions. He remembered Lefroy’s 
veiled warning: “She shall not be carried off until you 
return.” He recollected the nature of that “Company 
of Masquers” who stood behind Wilton in this enter- 
prise. The truth of Louise’s assertion came home to 
him with sudden conviction; assuredly Sylvia could 
not so deceive; assuredly she had been tricked into an 
elopement, carried away against her will. If so, then 
somewhere, in danger, in horror, she was waiting to be 
rescued, while he had wasted the hours in futile repin- 
ing at her faithlessness. 

He turned away with a groan. 

“I’m not worthy to serve her. I doubted her 
honesty. And now, if evil befall her, the fault is 
mine. Gold help me!” 

Louise, that loyal woman, watching his face, felt a 
sharp pang of self-pity as she thought: “Ah, how he 
loves her.” 

But the little sting of jealousy passed in a moment. 
She touched his hand gently. 

“We must not waste time. We may save her yet — 
if we can but trace her whereabouts.” 

He started and threw back his shoulders with a 
characteristic air of resolution. “Yes — yes — we must 
find her,” he cried eagerly. “But — where to look?” 
He threw his hands wide with a gesture of despair. 
“Where — in all this wide England will the rascal have 
carried her?” 


LOSING OF THE BLUE RIBAND 251 

‘‘Do you know nothing of his haunts?’’ suggested 
Louise. 

“I might perchance learn something at a certain 
tavern I wot of,” he said doubtfully. “But — it will 
take time. Has Sir John done aught to seek her?” 

“Nothing. He thinks her fled of her own will! ’Tis 
for us who believe in her to save her.” 

“Has she left no clue here? No note?” 

Louise shook her head. “Her maid says that a note 
was brought for her early this morning by a little girl. 
That immediately she dressed and went out, refusing 
all attendance.” 

“A little girl!” said Anthony slowly. “What man- 
ner of child was she?” 

Before Louise could reply he had rung the bell. It 
was answered by Janet with a promptness that sug- 
gested an expectation of the summons. 

“What like was the child who brought the note to 
your mistress?” demanded Anthony sharply. 

“A little countrified thing, sir,” answered Janet 
cautiously. 

‘ ‘ Can you say no more than that ? Should you know 
her again?” he asked impatiently. 

“Oh, yes, sir.” 

“How? For Heaven’s sake speak your mind, girl!” 

Janet looked offended and flustered. “I should 
know her by her hair and her eyes, sir,” she said 
sulkily. 

“Plague take you, woman! What hair? What 
eyes?” 

“The child’s, sir,” stammered Janet. 

“Of what colour, Janet?” interposed Louise gently. 

“Her hair was red, my lady, and hung to her knees. 
And her eyes were two colours for they did na’ match.” 

Louise swung round eagerly to Anthony; his eyes 
echoed her own conviction. 


252 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


‘‘The child of the farm on the heath!” they cried 
simultaneously. 

Anthony snatched up his hat. “There’s much to 
hope from this, madam. ’Tis the likeliest spot for a 
hiding-hole. I will ride there on the instant.” 

Louise caught his arm in both her hands. “Ah, not 
alone!” she cried. “Bethink you. He is a desperate 
man. ’ ’ 

He looked down at her with a grim smile in his eyes. 

“So am I, madam,” he answered shortly. “Let me 
go.” 

He was gone without another word. 

Louise ran to the window to watch him striding away 
towards the stables. He never turned to look back. 
When he had vanished she shivered suddenly from 
head to foot, and sinking into a chair, bowed her proud 
head upon her hands and broke into bitter weeping. 

Out in the sunny country, past the shining meadows, 
through the lilac-scented villages on to the golden heath 
rode Anthony, spurring his horse, even as he had 
spurred him on that wild ride from Paris, but with yet 
a deeper fear in his heart; for then he had hasted 
merely to save his own life, now he rode to save the 
honour of the woman he loved. So he heeded little of 
the country through which he rode, of the hedges 
snowed with May blossom, of the emerald woods asheen 
with bluebells, of the sunshine blazing on the bee- 
haunted gorse; or if he noted ’twas only to see in the 
sunshine the gold of her hair, and in the blossom those 
fair white hands he held so dear. 

But though he rode so heedlessly towards his goal 
his wits were working shrewdly. Even should he not 
be following a false trail, even should he find Sylvia 
at the farm, he in no wise under-estimated the diffi- 
culties which stood in his path. He was a fair swords- 
man, but no m^tch, he honestly believed, for Wilton. 


LOSING OF THE BLUE RIBAND 253 


Moreover, it was unlikely that Wilton stood alone in 
this enterprise; the odds against him were scarce likely 
to be less than three to one. He would have given 
much to have Peter beside him, but Peter was away 
at Moorstone Abbey, and time was too precious to ad- 
mit of his seeking other company; moreover, he could 
not endure to think of Sylvia ^s name becoming staled 
in common gossip. So he rode alone, trusting to his 
wits and kindly Fortune to shape his course to suc- 
cess. 

At length the farm came in sight, standing lonely and 
silent in the sunshine, surrounded by the empty heath. 
Anthony calculated that the utterly unexpected nature 
of his arrival on the scene was the strongest weapon in 
his quiver. He did not pause to reconnoitre, but gal- 
loped straight into the courtyard, sprang to the ground, 
and, pushing wide the door, strode into the kitchen. A 
woman with her back to the doorway was stooping over 
the fire stirring a pottage. She turned at his entrance 
and eyed him curiously. 

‘‘Where is Wilton T’ he asked as nonchalantly as 
possible. 

The woman nodded towards the door of the staircase. 

“Up ben,’’ she said, turning back to her cooking. 
“Up ben wi’ the lady.” 

He opened the door and dived into the darkness of 
the stair. He was conscious of a little shiver of fear. 
If his approach had been noted it might well befall that 
he would never reach the top of the stair alive ; a thrust 
in the dark would prove a convenience indeed to des- 
perate men. 

He groped his way up cautiously till he reached the 
top; then, pausing a moment to loosen his sword in its 
sheath, silently pushed wide the door and stepped into 
the long attic into which little Margery had invited him 
on his first visit to the farm. He stood a second blink- 


254 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


ing in the strong light, and slowly made out the scene 
before him. 

In a high-backed chair near the empty fireplace sat 
Sylvia, very quiet and composed, showing only in the 
unwonted pallor of her face and the fierce clasp of her 
hands on the arm of her chair the fear that lay at her 
heart. Near her stood Wilton, leaning against the 
chimney-piece and looking down at her with desperation 
writ large on his handsome face. In the far window” 
two men stood whispering together, while little Margery 
crouched near the door and stared adoringly at Wil- 
ton. 

Anthony walked quietly across to the group by the 
fireplace. 

‘‘Mistress Sylvia,” he said gently, “I have come to 
take you home.” 

At the sound of his voice the men in the window 
swung round with a curse and hurried forward, but 
Anthony had eyes only for Sylvia. For in the face of 
her quiet composure once more his doubts assailed him; 
was this indeed a woman carried off against her will? 
Slowly she lifted her eyes to his, and her lips broke into 
a smile of such exceeding gladness that all his fears 
vanished in a sudden glory of hope. She rose to her 
feet and placed her hand in his.” 

“I thank you. Sir Anthony,” she said simply. “I 
was in sore need of your coming.” 

“Then permit me to escort you, madam,” he said 
coolly. Ignoring Wilton entirely, he drew her hand 
through his arm and turned towards the door. 

He came to an abrupt halt. Betwixt him and the 
door stood one of the men, quietly covering him with 
his pistol ; the other stood a few paces from the window 
meditatively weighing the butt of his pistol in his right 
hand. At the same moment Wilton broke into a dis- 
cordant laugh. 


LOSING OF THE BLUE RIBAND 255 


‘‘You forget, Sir Anthony,’^ he said mockingly, “you 
have to deal with Lefroy’s Masquers.’’ 

Anthony stared for a second at the barrel of the 
pistol levelled so uncompromisingly, at his head, and 
realised that the game of bluff was ended. But he felt 
Sylvia trembling violently as she leaned on his arm, 
and for her sake maintained his air of cool assurance. 

“It would appear, madam,” he said lightly, “these 
gentlemen mislike our departure. Will you not be 
seated again until the matter is amicably adjusted?” 

Sylvia sank back into her chair and held out her 
hand entreatingly towards Wilton. 

“Robert, why do you seek to keep me here?” she 
pleaded. “I have told you that I will never wed you 
now.” 

Wilton eyed her gloomily for a moment in silence, 
then he turned savagely on Anthony. 

“You have chosen to meddle once too often in my 
affairs, Claverton, curse you! This is the last time. 
You shall pay for this with your life.” 

Anthony laughed. “You forget, Mr. Wilton, I, too, 
am a member of the Company. Spite your threats, I 
know well Lefroy does not tolerate — assassins.” 

“The devil take Lefroy!” muttered Wilton. “You 
do not leave this house alive.” 

Anthony pulled up a chair and sank into it com- 
fortably. 

“So be it,” he said cheerfully, “then I remain 
here. ’ ’ 

Wilton swung from him angrily and stooped over 
Sylvia. 

“Listen to me,” he said entreatingly, “you are in 
my power. This man’s coming makes no difference; 
if he attempts to interfere he will be silenced. Why 
do you oppose me, Sylvia? You love me — in your 
heart you love me, and I — all I am is yours. You shall 


256 THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 

marry me, whether you will or no. I shall not let you 
go.” 

She faced him steadily. ‘^You have killed my love; 
I will never wed you. Let me go ! ” 

Anthony leaned forward. ‘‘Pardon my intervention 
in the conversation,” he said politely, “but Mr. Wilton 
is at times inaccurate. My coming makes a vast differ- 
ence in this affair, for I am not the only friend of Miss 
Defraine’s who is aware of her presence here.” 

Wilton started and glanced questioningly towards 
the man at the door. The latter shook his head. 

“I was sure of it,” he muttered. “The game is up 
this time.” 

“Nonsense,” said Wilton sharply. “He lighted on 
us by accident. Would he have come here alone other- 
wise?” 

‘ ‘ It will doubtless clear the air if I explain the situa- 
tion,” said Anthony coolly, rising to his feet. “I came 
here alone out of regard for Miss Defraine’s privacy. 
But her presence here is known to her friends, and if I 
do not presently carry her back to London, our friendly 
little conclave will be considerably enlarged.” 

“We must take the road with her at once,” said one 
of the men hurriedly. 

Anthony shook his head. “That plan presents diffi- 
culties, my friend. Miss Defraine will not go will- 
ingly, and I shall most assuredly do my diligence to kill 
any man who lays hand on her. I flatter myself three 
is too small a number to accomplish the departure with 
dispatch. Now, were you to shoot me out of hand, the 
matter would be undoubtedly more simple, but such 
a course will hardly commend the bridegroom to the 
lady. On the whole, I strongly recommended that you 
abandon the enterprise — for to-day, and perchance at- 
tempt it again with the full force of your Company.” 

“Curse you!” cried Wilton furiously. “I might 


LOSING OF THE BLUE RIBAND ^57 


have known you’d never venture here unless you had 
succour within call. Look you — will you fight me for 
Miss Defraine fairly, man to man?” 

^‘To-morrow I will meet you with all the will in the 
world,” answered Anthony coolly; ‘‘to-day I fear I 
shall be fully occupied in escorting her back to her 
friends. ’ ’ 

Suddenly Sylvia rose and crossed to Wilton’s side; 
she laid her hand on his arm. 

“Robert,” she said gently, “you have vowed you 
loved me; sure, you cannot then be so cruel. What 
you have done to-day has been madness; you cannot 
force me to wed you and — I cannot do it willingly — 
now. But let me hold kind thoughts of you in my 
heart, Robert. Let me go in peace.” 

There was a short silence. Wilton stood with his 
head sunk on his breast, staring broodingly at the floor. 
The man by the window glanced at him contemptuously 
and spat. 

Sylvia turned slowly and walked back to her chair. 

Then at last Wilton lifted his head and strode to 
Anthony’s side. “Look you — I’ve a bargain to pro- 
pose. You have stolen her love from me, you have 
stolen her fortune from me, but by Heaven ! I ’ll not go 
out o’ this affair empty-handed. You carry that on 
your breast will serve to make my fortune in France. 
Give it to me and you shall go in peace.” 

Anthony started. “What do you mean?” he asked 
curtly. 

Wilton laughed harshly. “You know well enough. 
Before I left France, all the country-side was ringing 
with the hue and cry after the thief of the Royal Rib- 
bon and Cross. The hostess at NeufchMel knew him to 
be the man who carried off Sylvia. Give it to me in 
exchange for your life, and I will found my fortunes 
at Versailles.” 


258 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


Anthony stared up at him. ^‘Give it to you,” he 
repeated slowly; ‘‘nonsense! ’Tis Lefroy’s commis- 
sion. ’ ’ 

“What do I care for that?” asked Wilton curtly. 
“It is the price of your own skin and — Miss Defraine.” 

Anthony glanced at Sylvia, hesitating. “Miss De- 
fraine and I are in no hurry,” he said lightly. “We 
can await the arrival of her friends.” 

“But we will not,” answered Wilton shortly. “Look 
you, Claverton, I will not go out of this affair empty- 
handed, Either you hand me over this jewel, or we 
carry Miss Defraine aw^ay by force, and take our chance 
of pursuit^” 

Still Anthony hesitated. He knew well that if these 
men had resort to force his life was not worth a thought, 
and that long before further help could arrive Sylvia 
would be carried far away. He knew that the game of 
bluff he was playing was liable at any moment to ex- 
posure. And yet — tamely to give up the jewel for 
which he had endured so much, meekly to accept failure 
when success lay at his hand — to abandon without a 
struggle the treasure which alone could save his honour 
and pay his debt — surely it was more than man could 
do! His hand crept to his sword-hilt. He glanced 
from side to side calculating possible chances of escape. 

And then his eyes rested on Sylvia. He read the look 
of fear in the grey eyes fixed so anxiously upon him, 
and he knew that he had no alternative save to submit. 
He could not expose her to the horror of a fight at odds 
for her person — to the dread of what must inevitably 
follow his undoing. At all costs — and the cost seemed 
heavy indeed — her honour, her safety must be secured. 

Slowly he drew from his breast the packet containing 
the Cordon-bleu and looked down at it with a strange 
smile in his eyes. And at that moment he did not 
think of Sylvia, nor of the danger in which he stood, 


LOSING OF THE BLUE RIBAND S59 


nor of the struggles through which he had passed to 
gain possession of this jewel; he was conscious only of 
a sudden foolish desire to look once more into the eyes 
of the little Duchess, and hear the bewildering laughter 
ripple from her lips. Truly the heart of a bachelor is 
the most fantastical creation of Dame Nature. 

It was but for a second he stood thus, then he gave a 
light laugh and turned to Sylvia. 

‘‘Mr. Wilton is scarce 'gallant, madam, to weigh any 
jewel, however precious, in comparison with your per- 
fections. Nevertheless, seeing it is our desire to keep 
this affair as privy as possible — I accept the bargain, 
Wilton.’^ He turned to the other men: “I understand, 
gentlemen, you are members of Lefroy’s Company, to 
which I too have the honour to belong. I ask you to 
bear witness that I give Mr. Wilton this jewel in ex- 
change for a free pass for this lady and myself.’’ 

The men nodded. “The bargain shall be kept.” 

Anthony tossed the packet to Wilton and turned to 
Sylvia. “I think, madam, the affair is pleasantly ad- 
justed. Shall we set forth?” 

Again he took her hand in his, and his heart warmed 
at the grateful pressure of her fingers. 

Wilton stepped forward and stared down at her with 
brooding, melancholy eyes; there was a strange wild- 
ness in his look. 

“Had you stayed with me, Sylvia, I would have 
made you happy,” he said harshly; “but you are false 
as — a woman. Yet, be sure of this — ^you shall not 
escape me. I will have you mine at last.” 

Before she could reply he turned away and strode 
out of the room. 

Anthony saw big tears well up into Sylvia’s eyes, 
and felt her whole body shake with the sobs she tried 
so fiercely to repress. His indignation overwhelmed 
him. 


260 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


‘‘A monstrous ungentlemanly manner of accepting 
defeat/’ he said angrily. ‘^Do not heed him, madam.” 

But Sylvia’s tears only fell the faster. ‘‘Assuredly 
he is mad,” she sobbed. “And ’tis I have caused it. 
Heaven pity us both!” 

Anthony could not blame her grief, though he found 
it amazingly disconcerting. He led her gently down 
into the courtyard and ensconced her in a seat in the 
sunshine while he went in search of horses to carry 
them back to Town. When he returned to her, five 
minutes later, he found her quiet and composed, ready 
to welcome him with a smile of gratitude. 

He had secured the loan of a horse for her from one 
of the Masquers. They mounted and rode together 
over the sun-kissed heath. Anthony ’s thoughts flew 
back to those rides in Gloucestershire when a rival stood 
betwixt him and her love. He had striven long to 
banish that rival’s image from her heart, and at length 
he had succeeded. Hope and happiness lay in his path, 
his spirits soared as high as the larks above him. Suc- 
cess was sweet indeed — there was time enough before 
him to count the cost of that success! 

Sylvia rode for a mile or so in silence, brooding upon 
what had passed. At length she turned to Anthony 
with a little nervous air. 

“You will marvel. Sir Anthony, how it comes that I 
put myself in Mr. Wilton’s power. I was amazing 
simple. But they wrote me word that he had been 
mortally wounded in a quarrel concerning me, and de- 
sired speech with me before he died. I could not re- 
fuse, and I told none of the message lest I be forbidden 
to go to him. Will you tell me how it comes that you 
knew what had befallen me?” 

Anthony told her briefly the clue he had followed. 
She listened attentively. 

“I feared — I have shown myself so foolish in the 


LOSING OF THE BLUE RIBAND 261 


past,” she said humbly, feared my friends would 
believe me fled of my own choice.” 

Anthony flushed, hesitated, and made his confession. 

‘T shame to confess, madam, I was of that opinion, 
until Mrs. Carew enlightened me.” 

She looked at him curiously. ^‘Then — ’twas Mrs. 
Carew who sent you to save me?” she asked slowly. 

‘‘Yes — in a manner.” 

She nodded. “I understand.” Then she added 
stiffly: “I am vastly obleeged to her.” 

Anthony saw that she was very far from understand- 
ing; but he was still searching for words with which to 
enlighten her, when she suddenly changed the sub- 
ject. 

“That packet you bartered for me,” she asked 
abruptly, “was it — of great value.” 

“It was a trifle, madam, compared with that which it 
purchased,” answered Anthony gallantly. 

She sighed. “I And myself amazing indebted to 
you.” 

“The debt will be amply repaid, madam, if you will 
but smile on life and And it sweet again,” he said 
lightly. 

She made no reply, but rode with averted face. 
Presently he heard the sound of a stifled sob. He 
reined his horse close beside her and laid his hand on 
her arm. 

“Are you still in trouble. Mistress Sylvia?” he asked 
gently. “Will you not tell me what burdens your 
heart?” 

“I — I have made so tangled a web of my life,” she 
sobbed. “I — I am ashamed.” 

“Egad, madam, you gave love and loyalty, was it 
your fault that the fellow proved unworthy? If none 
of us had more to regret than that in our past, we were 
blessed indeed. Come — a little courage, madam,” he 


262 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


added cheerily. ‘‘You are not wont to be lacking in 
the commodity.” 

She looked up then with an April face, all smiles and 
tears. “I think, Sir Anthony, ’tis your kindness robs 
me of the virtue,” she said shyly. “A sound whipping 
were more like to call it forth — and be my deserts. ’ ’ 

“Faith, madam! You may look to receive it — down 
yonder,” he answered grimly, pointing towards Lon- 
don. 

The next moment he could have bitten out his tongue 
with vexation at his brutality. She turned to him a 
face so stricken with shrinking horror. “Do they 
know?” she whispered. “Do they know — in St. 
James’s — in the Mall — what has befallen me? Sure, if 
they know I cannot endure it.” 

“Why, madam,” he stammered, “what’s this? You 
were plaguy reckless o’ the gossips when you returned 
from France.” 

Her cheeks flamed. “There was a difference then. 
I — I thought I was right to — risk all for his love.” 

“And now you fear ” 

“Ah, to be a matter for common gossip! To be 
sneered at by Lady d’Arcy, and mocked by Sybilla 
Seaton, to be the object of every gibe and every witti- 
cism and — to know what they say is all true — all de- 
served. I cannot endure it!” She covered her face 
with her hands and shivered. 

Anthony rode on in silence, his lips set grimly; he 
was meditating a strange project. Presently Sylvia 
looked round with a little forced laugh. 

“I am foolish,” she said. “My guardian, without 
doubt, will take me down to Gloucestershire — ^there we 
take little heed of London gossip.” 

“That is impossible, madam,” answered Anthony 
quickly. “You must not give the world cause to think 
you have occasion to flee it.” He paused, then con- 


LOSING OF THE BLUE RIBAND 263 


tinned slowly: ‘HVe a project which — if it please yon 
to adopt it — will effectively silence all malicions 
tongnes.” 

She tnmed to him eagerly. ‘‘Ah, tell me ’’ 

“Why, madam, if yon retnrn to London as my be- 
trothed, I’ll warrant no tongues shall wag anent yonr 
repntation. ’ ’ 

“Yonr — yonr betfothed?” she gasped. “Ah, no! — 
it — it is not possible.” 

Anthony winced. “There’s no need to press the 
matter to matrimony, an it mislike yon,” he said 
qnickly. “All I ask is that yon — er — give me the right 
to protect yonr repntation for a few weeks. Trnst me, 
when yon desire to end the affair I’ll find a project 
shall clear yon from all impntations of fickleness.” 

She looked at him cnrionsly. “And what of Mrs. 
Carew?” she asked slowly. 

Anthony flnshed. “Really, madam, I see no call for 
this constant introdnction of Mrs. Carew’s name into 
onr interconrse, ” he said with some annoyance. “She 
and I hold one another in — er — mntnal esteem, bnt she 
has no desire in any way to control my actions.” 

Sylvia looked nnconvinced. “Bnt why shonld yon 
do this thing?” she faltered donbtfnlly. 

“Why, look yon, madam, I’ve an amazing dislike 
for leaving nnfinished any matter to which I pnt my 
hand. Yon’ve accnsed me of interference in yonr 
affairs, and I admit the impeachment; let me continne 
my interference nntil the gossips are silenced.” 

She shook her head, her face was afire with blnshes. 
“No! It — it’s impossible.” 

Bnt Anthony was not so easily tnrned from his way. 
“Yon mnst not snppose, madam,” he nrged qnickly, 
“that as yonr betrothed I shonld interfere in any way 
with yonr leisnre or — er — claim any privileges. Yon 
can trnst me.” 


S64 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


‘T am sure of that/’ she answered gently. ‘‘But — 
but you have done so much for me, and I — I can- 
not ” 

“Why, look you, then, we’ll say you owe me a pest 
o’ gratitude for all my interference,” he interrupted her 
lightly, ‘ ‘ and the least you can do in return is to accede 
to my desires. Let us sink discussion, madam, and 
hold the affair concluded. Here we are at Kensington. 
You submit?” 

For answer she drew rein, and turning in her saddle 
held out both her hands to him. “Are you always so 
good to women?” she asked with a strange sigh. 

Anthony grimaced. “Faith, madam, ’tis a wise rule 
for every betrothed couple to — sink the past.” 

Then he took her hands and held them for a minute 
between his own. “God bless you!” he murmured 
very tenderly. “God bless you!” 


CHAPTER XXVII 


BETROTHED 

*Tf heart of stone for heart of fire be all thou hast to give, 

If dead to me my heart’s desire, why should I ask to live?” 

W HEN Anthony escorted the truant into his annt^s 
house at Chelsea, and with all due ceremony 
asked her guardians for her hand, the amazement of the 
entire household was unbounded. But even their sur- 
prise was overshadowed by their unconcealed gratifica- 
tion. 

have ever held there must be a grain of sense 
somewhere in your rattlepate, nephew,’’ said Lady 
Sophia brusquely, ‘‘though why in Heaven’s name you 
did not conclude the matter months ago passes my 
comprehension. ’T would have saved a mort of trouble.” 

“Egad, madam! I had my reputation to consider,” 
answered Anthony good-temperedly. “A sworn votary 
o’ celibacy cannot swallow matrimony at the first gulp.” 

Lady Defraine embraced him tenderly, greatly to his 
discomfiture; when Louise offered her congratulations, 
he found it difficult to face her searching glance, and 
make suitable replies to the sincerity of her good 
wishes; but the most embarrassing felicitations came 
from old Sir John. The old man’s delight in this ac- 
complishment of his desires for his ward was un- 
bounded, and all the geniality of his spirits overfiowed 
in exuberant jests at the expense of the newly-be- 
trothed. 

“Why, Sylvie,” he cried, taking her hands and eye- 
265 


266 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


ing her from head to foot, ‘‘here’s a pale face for a 
bride. I warrant you when I and your aunt were 
affianced I gave her small cause to lack blushes. Be- 
shrew me, Sir Anthony! ’twould seem you fine Town 
gentlemen are over-bashful, or set small store on your 
rights. Why, the wench is fair wilting for kisses. 
Come, buss her heartily. Ill not hold the betrothal 
valid till it be sealed before witnesses. Com,e, buss 
her 1 ’ ’ 

Anthony flushed with vexation and embarrassment. 
When he devised this fine project for saving Sylvia’s 
reputation, he had forgotten Sir John’s buxom man- 
ners; he knew that nothing would turn the persistent 
old gentleman from his way. He glanced at Sylvia; 
there was small need now for Sir John to complain of 
her pallor; her cheeks were aflame, and her wicked old 
guardian laughed at her visible confusion. 

Lady Sophia’s shrill cackle added to Anthony’s an- 
noyance. 

“Tut, nephew — an I were Sylvia, I’d not say ‘thank 
you’ for so laggard a lover.” 

Anthony’s lips twitched, his eyes twinkled. The 
situation appeared to him to hold elements of comedy. 
Had it been a question of any other woman, without 
doubt he would have pleaded necessity and saluted her 
heartily, but with Sylvia he dared not — simply because 
he desired it so amazingly. 

“I — I fear — Miss Defraine will ” he began nerv- 

ously. 

But suddenly Sylvia turned and crossed to his side. 
She lifted her face to his, and he saw a little twinkle of 
laughter lurking in her eyes. She pouted her lips a 
trifle and her face crimsoned. “Please,” she whis- 
pered, “if — if it be not distasteful to you.” 

As Anthony had said, he had a dislike for unfinished 
affairs, he was by nature thorough. But when the em- 


BETROTHED S67 

brace was over, Louise noted that he was white to the 
lips. 

A week later, Peter Wildmore rode up from the 
country. He had not been in Town half an hour before 
he heard of Anthony ’s betrothal ; the news was on every 
tongue. The affair was a genuine surprise to him, for 
though his cynical tongue was wont to exercise itself 
freely on the subject of “the fickle fair,’’ in his heart he 
held profound belief in woman’s loyalty; it saddened 
the little man to think that Anthony should have given 
his troth to one who could so speedily solace herself. 
Nevertheless, he dutifully prepared to meet his friend 
with all suitable felicitations, and only a reasonable 
amount of jesting at his expense. 

But when at length Anthony joined him at supper, 
all Peter’s carefully prepared speeches fled from his 
mind. Instead of the self-conscious, half-embarrassed, 
wholly triumphant air, common to all successful lovers 
the world over, Anthony ’s face bore the strained, 
utterly wearied expression of a man engaged in a con- 
tinuous struggle against heavy odds. He showed, in- 
deed, a genuine delight to find Peter returned to Town, 
but he received his halting congratulations so indiffer- 
ently, and lent so preoccupied an ear to his jests, that 
Peter gazed at him in deepest dismay. 

“Plague take you, Tony!” he cried at length. “Ha’ 
ye quarrelled already, or what’s amiss? You look for 
all the world as though ye’d been wed a twelve-month.” 

Anthony looked at him gravely for a moment in 
silence, then he pushed aside his glass, and resting his 
elbows on the table leaned his head on his hands. 
“Peter,” he said slowly, “I — I’ve made a demmed mis- 
take. ’ ’ 

“Good Lord!” Peter’s face expressed utter conster- 
nation, and withal such shocked disapproval of the con- 
fession, that Anthony hastened to explain. 


268 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


‘‘Don’t dream that she isn’t the most adorable 
woman in Christendom. She is. But — ’tis but a coun- 
terfeit betrothal, and Heaven help me! I cannot play 
my part.” 

In a few words he poured out the story of his compact 
with Sylvia. Peter listened with unmoved counte- 
nance, but there was undoubtedly a twinkle in the shrewd 
blue eyes which stared so resolutely down at his wine. 

“Well?” he asked at length, “what’s amiss? Miss 
Defraine’s reputation is secured. Does she find your 
attendance tedious, or to what does she make objec- 
tion ? ’ ’ 

“She? No, it is nothing to her. But for me — 
heavens! man, can’t you understand? I am with her 
hour after hour, in company my place is at her side, 
to all outward semblance I must be to her as though we 
were betrothed. And yet — ^it is but counterfeit. I love 
her, Peter, and I may not even woo her. I dare not 
touch her hand or look in her eyes lest I — forget myself 
— and break the bargain betwixt us. Can’t you under- 
stand ? ’ ’ 

Peter put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Ay! 
I understand,” he said gently. He sat silent a mo- 
ment, then added suddenly : ‘ ‘ ’Pon my soul, Tony ! I ’ve 
never heard tell of a scheme more full o’ tomfoolery.” 

Anthony rose and strode restlessly about the room. 
“I tell you, I cannot play the role any longer. But 
what to do ?” 

“Faith! There’s but one answer to that, Tony — 
You must marry her.” 

“Marry her! Pah! I may not even woo her. She 
gave her heart to that demmed rascal, and ” 

Peter shook his head solemnly. “There’s nothing 
in Nature more variable than the mind of a woman. 
Unless — ” he continued musingly, “unless it be the 
heart of a man.” He hummed a few staves from a 


BETROTHED 269 

gavotte recently introduced from Versailles, and glanced 
sideways at Anthony, with his twinkling eyes. 

Anthony flushed. ‘‘Plague take you, Peter!’’ he 
muttered. “The affair is serious.” 

“I’m with you there. For look you, if you do not 
purpose to wed the wench, how is the matter to be 
brought to a conclusion? By your own showing this 
counterfeit betrothal must presently surcease, yet ’twill 
not enhance her reputation to be jilted, nor save her 
good fame if she jilt you.” 

Anthony groaned. ‘ ‘ ’Tis every word on ’t true, Peter. 
I’ve known it since the first hour we conceived the 
scheme. I can see no way out of it — save one.” 

“Marriage,” repeated Peter conclusively. 

The other shook his head. “No, there’s an alterna- 
tive,” he said grimly. 

Peter started and eyed him sharply. “I’ve always 
vowed any alternative preferable, but — don’t be a blind 
fool, Tony. At least give the girl her choice ’twixt a 
live husband and a dead betrothed.” 

He spoke lightly, but there was a shadow in his eyes, 
and a weight on his heart, and when they parted that 
night his hand rested for a moment on Anthony’s shoul- 
der with a caressing touch. 

Anthony did not sleep that night. He spent the hours 
pacing his room, striving to face fairly the difficulties 
with which he was surrounded and to find a clear path 
out of the tangled web of circumstance. When he had 
proposed this counterfeit betrothal to Sylvia, he had 
recked of little save the defence of her good name from 
slanderous tongues; he had not counted the cost, or if 
he had looked at all to the future his judgment had been 
blinded by a dazzling hope. But each day that hope 
grew fainter — Sylvia had become utterly incomprehen- 
sible. In company she played her part bravely, reward- 
ing his attentions with smiles and glances of infinite 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


270 

tenderness, heartening him to dream an awakening to 
his love; but when they were alone she assumed on the 
instant a blank air of indifference, veiled by a distant 
courtesy that drove him to distraction. Day by day she 
seemed to grow more cold, more still, more silent, and 
day by day his passion to possess her burned more fiercely 
in his breast. 

And now he had reached the end of his endurance. 
That evening, while in the presence of her aunt, she had 
been adorable; she had sung to him, smiled at him, let 
her hand rest in his, answered a ventured caress with a 
tiny pressure of her fingers, but when they were alone 
and, his blood still burning under the incitement of her 
alluring tenderness, he had ventured to lay his hand 
upon her arm, he had felt her shrink and tremble be- 
neath his touch, and had seen her eyes fill with sudden 
tears. Then it was that he had formed his resolution 
to end the affair, and then he had realised the difficulties 
which lay in his path. 

Two things only were clear to him: Sylvia must be 
given her freedom, and she must be freed in such a 
manner that no shadow of blame could rest upon her. 
The only means by which this could be achieved was by 
his death, and seeing the future showed very drear and 
lonely shorn of her love, it seemed to him a little mat- 
ter that he should give his life to ensure her happiness. 

There was, further, another matter that strengthened 
his resolution. He had failed in his quest for the 
Masquers, forfeited all hope of winning the three thou- 
sand pounds, and saw small chance of meeting the 
bill which must presently fall due. Yet, were he dead, 
he knew well that Lady Sophia, for his honour’s sake, 
would pay the bond, and this debt which hung like a 
millstone about his neck be cancelled at last. 

‘H’m an amazing failure,” he muttered with a wry 
smile. ‘‘Every affair to which I’ve set my hand has 


BETROTHED 


271 


gone awry. If my death can sort the tangle, egad! the 
world is not likely to run out of its course for lack o^ 
me. ’ ’ - 

He went early to Chelsea and walked into the fniddle 
of a feminine conclave, at which Lady Betty Acton 
appeared to be the presiding genius. The chairs were 
strewn with silks and laces which old Lady Sophia was 
appraising with critical eye, while Louise and Lady De- 
fraine were matching ribbons by the window. Sylvia 
alone stood aloof, with an expression of helpless in- 
decision on her fair face. Her eyes brightened visibly 
at sight of Anthony. 

‘‘Lud! Tony, you come in a good hour,’’ cried Lady 
Betty gaily. ‘'We are even now contriving Sylvia’s 
wedding-gown. ’ ’ 

“Her wedding-gown,” stammered Anthony. He 
glanced across at Sylvia’s flushed face with a sudden 
twinkle in his eyes, but she gave him no answering 
smile. 

“You would do well to command your own coat for 
the ceremony,” continued Betty, eyeing him closely. 
“Charles tells me Simpson kept him three weeks in 
waiting for his green brocade ; there are so many 
difficulties in the matter of shipping the silk from 
France. ’ ’ 

“But — plague take it! wherein lies the need for such 
haste?” gasped Anthony. 

Lady Betty gazed at him with scandalised face. 
“Lack-a-mercy, Tony! how monstrous ungallant you 
are!” 

Old Lady Sophia turned to him reprovingly. “You 
must know. Nephew Anthony, Sir John and I opine 
’twill be well to hold your wedding on the twentieth 
day of June. There is no cause for delay and he is de- 
sirous to return to Gloucestershire.” 

Anthony stood silent. 


272 THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 

Lady Sophia tapped his arm impatiently with her 
fan. 

^'Hoighty toighty! here’s a strange demeanour for a 
bridegroom. Ha’ you nought to say?” 

He looked doubtfully across at his prospective bride. 
‘‘What says Miss Defraine to this project?” he asked 
slowly. 

Lady Sophia shrugged her shoulders. “Faith! what 
else could any modest girl say, save to vow ’tis too soon 
to think o’ wedlock? An you had any sense o’ gal- 
lantry, Nephew Anthony, you would understand ’tis 
for you to urge the ceremony upon her.” 

Anthony was nonplussed. “But I am with her in 
the opinion that there is small need for such haste, ’ ’ he 
stammered. “We — er — have not yet wearied of — er — 
of dalliance.” 

All the ladies turned upon him with horrified faces; 
Lady Betty sniffed audibly and looked meaningly across 
at Louise. The latter moved to his side. 

“Sir Anthony,” she said gently, “Lady Betty has 
informed us that there is much scandal afoot concern- 
ing your betrothal, which talk your early marriage 
would effectively silence.” 

Anthony wheeled round sharply upon Betty. 
“What’s this?” he asked quickly. 

Lady Betty’s eyes twinkled wickedly. “ ’Tis ru- 
moured in the Mall that your betrothal is but a con- 
venience, you do not purpose to wed Miss Defraine.” 

Anthony’s hand flew to his side, his eyes gleamed. 
“Who has dared ?” 

“No one you can silence by your sword,” inter- 
rupted Betty mockingly. ‘ ‘ Lucille d ’Arcy, Sybilla 
Seaton, and the like. ’Tis common matter for talk — 
among the women.” 

“But — ^what a’ Heaven’s name has put such a no- 
tion into their heads?” stammered Anthony. 


BETROTHED ^7S 

Betty shrugged her shoulders. “Without question 
’tis your manner towards Miss Defraine.’’ 

“Nonsense!^’ said Anthony sharply. He crossed to 
Sylvia’s side and took her hand in his, caressingly, 
looking down at her with a smile in his eyes. “What 
is amiss with my manner?” he asked lightly. 

Lady Betty eyed him critically. “Much!” she re- 
torted emphatically. 

Lady Sophia nodded a confirmation of the verdict. 
“There is enough amiss to give colour to gossip — 
though, mark me, if I dreamed there was a word of 
truth in the story I’d wash my hands o’ you both,” she 
added severely. “Fie, Nephew Anthony! it passes my 
comprehension how you can look at Sylvia and not fall 
on your knees entreating her to name the day.” 

Anthony swung round impatiently and met his aunt’s 
sharp, suspicious glance. He looked from her to the 
dissatisfied faces of the three younger ladies. Impul- 
sively he slipped his arm round Sylvia and drew her 
gently towards him. She made no resistance; it even 
seemed to him that she nestled gladly in the shelter of 
his embrace. His heart beat wildly in his breast as her 
curls brushed his cheek. 

“With your permission, madam,” he said, with a 
smile in his eyes, “I’ll broach the subject of our wed- 
ding-day to Miss Defraine in private.” 

Lady Sophia met his glance and gave a little nod of 
satisfaction. 

She rose and walked to the door, followed by Lady 
Defraine and Louise. Betty paused for a moment to 
gather a bundle of ribbons in her hand, and again eyed 
the couple critically. 

“I marvel, Tony, you should prove so ungallant,” 
she said gravely, shaking her head, “for I go wager 
’tis not from lack of experience!” 

When the last swish of Betty’s petticoat died into 


274 * 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


silence, Anthony felt Sylvia’s figure stiffen. He drew 
his arm away from her and she walked to the table, and 
began idly to finger the laces which were there dis- 
played. Anthony possessed a vivid imagination — the 
thought of the embrace which, had they been really be- 
trothed, would have followed Betty’s departure, 
haunted him with maddening persistence. 

Sylvia’s voice disturbed the current of his thoughts. 
^^What do you purpose to do now?” she asked coldly. 

Faith, madam! obey my aunt and broach to you 
the subject of our wedding-day,” he answered lightly, 
but he watched her with eager eyes. 

She frowned and tapped her foot impatiently upon 
the ground. ^^The matter is not one for jest. Lady 
Sophia and my uncle will not lightly be turned from 
their way. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ So little, that unless we bestir ourselves we are like 
to find ourselves wed willy-nilly, eh? Well — ’t would 
silence the gossips.” 

She looked at him with puzzled brows. should 
not have supposed Sir Anthony Claverton would suffer 
himself to be forced to any purpose by a woman’s scan- 
dalous tongue,” she said scornfully. 

He laughed softly. ‘‘Rest assured, madam. I’ll not 
be harried into matrimony by any woman in Christen- 
dom.” 

“Then may I beg your help in explaining the matter 
to Lady Sophia, and bringing our — our betrothal to a 
conclusion?” she asked stiffly. 

Anthony hesitated: “An you will leave the matter in 
my hands and grant me a few days’ grace,” he said 
slowly, “I believe I can find means to conclude the af- 
fair without need for explanation.” 

“You can contrive that!” she cried eagerly. 

Although he had long since assured himself of her in- 
difference, this apparent eagerness to be done with him 


BETROTHED 275 

cut Anthony to the quick. He turned away and crossed 
to the window. 

‘Tt shall be contrived, if you desire it,’’ he said 
curtly. 

‘‘Assuredly I desire it,” she answered hurriedly. 
“ ’Twas a foolish scheme; I did wrong to permit it. I 
— I did not consider how distasteful — that is I — er — 
in short I ” 

He interrupted her quickly with a bitter smile. “I 
am sorry, madam, that I ever broached the affair. 
’Twas a plaguy poor scheme, and I fear has proved 
monstrous irksome to you. I crave pardon for thus 
forcing my company upon you. You shall not much 
longer be asked to tolerate it.” 

She made no answer, and he did not see the shadow 
in her grey eyes or the pathetic droop of her lips as she 
turned away. 

“There is yet further cause why I would end our 
betrothal,” she continued presently. “I — I fear it en- 
dangers your safety.” 

“Ha!” Anthony turned on her swiftly. “You 
have heard something from Wilton?” 

Slowly she drew a letter from her reticule and handed 
it to him. “This came to me this morning and — I am 
afraid.” 

Anthony took the paper. The note was short, with- 
out address or signature, but there could be little doubt 
whence it came: 

“You are mine. Beloved. Let not Claverton think 
to keep you from me. Yet three days and again I will 
hold you, and this time you shall not escape me. For 
I cannot live without you, and would liefer kill you in 
my arms than leave you to another man’s embraces. 
Let Claverton look to himself; you are mine.” 

As Anthony read the brief note his lips hardened and 
a dangerous gleam shone in his eyes. He stood a mo- 


276 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


ment silent, mastering his rage, then he turned to 
Sylvia and read fear on her face. He took her hand in 
his: ‘‘You trust me, madam?’’ he asked quietly. 

“In all things,” she answered softly. “But I am 
afraid.” 

* “I swear to you this man shall trouble you no more. 
Do you believe me ? ” 

She lifted her eyes to his: “ ’Tis not for myself I 
fear,” she said quietly. 

A sudden smile brightened his eyes. “You fear — 
for me?” he asked softly. 

She nodded. He drew a step nearer. “Why, then 
’twould seem you pardon at last my many demerits? 
You — you will not think unkindly of me when our be- 
trothal is over and I pass out of your life?” 

Her lips trembled, the grey eyes raised to his were 
very earnest. 

“I shall think of you as one to whom I learned ever 
to turn in the hour of trouble,” she answered gently. 

Anthony smiled — a little ruefully. “Egad, madam! 
a somewhat sombre epitaph, but — ’twill serve.” He 
looked again at Wilton’s letter and his face hardened. 
“Set your mind at rest concerning this,” he said shortly, 

“there is no cause to fear aught. For the rest ” 

he glanced round with a smile at the gleaming display 
of brocades, “why, madam, the choice of a gown is ever 
deserving of care. Belike you will find occasion to 
wear it, though not upon our wedding day.” 

She held out her hand with a bewitching smile. “I 
pray Heaven,” she said softly, “I may find occasion to 
pay my debt of gratitude.” 

Impulsively Anthony stooped and kissed the little 
white hand that lay so confidingly in his own. “Is it 
not enough that you permit me to serve you?” he 
said huskily. “What more should I dare to ask?” 

Again the puzzled look crept into her eyes. She 


BETROTHED 


flushed crimson, and he felt her hand tremble as it lay 
in his own ; but the long lashes veiled her eyes, he could 
not read her thoughts. Once more he was troubled by 
an overweening desire to take her in his arms; her 
touch stirred his blood. Abruptly he dropped her hand 
and drew back. 

‘Til take my leave, madam,’’ he said shortly. “I — 

I have affairs. You will pardon me if I do not wait 
upon you until to-morrow.” 

Her face fell wofully; the shadow that darkened her 
eyes must have been apparent to the most unobservant 
of men. She flushed crimson and dropped him the state- 
liest of curtseys. 

‘T beg, sir, you will not consider any attendance nec- 
essary,” she said proudly. ‘T and my affairs have al- 
ready occupied overmuch of your time.” 

Without awaiting his answer she turned and hurried 
from the room. He heard her feet running lightly up 
the stairs. He left the house in a bewildering maze of 
hope, doubt, and fear. 

But he had sterner work afoot than puzzling over the 
meaning of a woman’s words, and ere he had gone many 
paces down the street his wits were at work devising 
some means by which he might for ever free Sylvia from 
the fear of Robert Wilton. 

His first intention naturally enough was to force Wil- 
ton to a quarrel and kill him; but as he thought over 
the matter he became reluctantly convinced, that though 
such a scheme was undoubtedly the most satisfying from 
his point of view, it could not be considered the best for 
Sylvia. He could not deny the extreme probability that 
a duel would end in victory for Wilton, the fellow was 
esteemed by all a most notable swordsman, and Anthony 
could claim no great skill; it would be little short of 
miraculous should he overcome such an opponent. He - 
yearned to put the matter to the test, to stand at last, ' 


278 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


sword in hand, opposite the man who had so persistently 
barred his path to happiness, to stake all on one fight for 
life. But prudence warned him that to risk probable 
death at the hands of Wilton, and thus leave Sylvia un- 
protected, was in truth but a fool’s way. For the great 
love he bore her he sacrificed his own desires and pre- 
pared to play a coward’s part. 

Wilton must be laid by the heels, that was clear ; must 
be buried in Newgate, shipped to the Plantations, or 
driven from the country in fear of his life. Yet this 
could only be effected in one way — ^namely, by the de- 
nunciation of the man to the Justices as a common thief 
and highwayman, an abductor of women, a Jacobite spy. 
Lord Oxford — Anthony knew well — ^would willingly 
oblige him in the matter. Proclamations could speedily 
be issued for Wilton’s arrest, and should he come to trial, 
there would be small difficulty in proving the case against 
him. But Anthony knew that in all probability the fel- 
low would flee the country and seek to found fresh for- 
tunes abroad. 

It was a scheme easy of accomplishment, well calcu- 
lated to ensure the protection of Sylvia from one who 
threatened her safety, a scheme in which Wilton’s 

swordsmanship could avail him little. And yet ! 

Many a long hour did Anthony pace to and fro by the 
river at Chelsea ere he could bring himself to the adop- 
tion of such means to his end. For the betrayal of any 
man, be he the most dishonest scoundrel on God’s earth, 
has an ugly sound ; and to hand over an enemy to justice 
for private ends must blacken a man’s honour for ever 
in his own esteem. 

Again and again Anthony swore to himself that he 
would have no part in the matter; but in his heart he 
knew it was the only sure means of protecting Sylvia, 
and for her sake he was prepared, if needs must, to play 
the traitor. 


BETROTHED 


279 


Yet, I think he had scarcely done this even for Sylvia’s 
sake, had he not known assuredly that he would be called 
upon to pay to the full the price of this betrayal. To 
betray his enemy and then live at his ease, that he could 
never have endured ; but he knew such a fate would not 
be his. He would yet have to reckon with the Company 
of the Masquers. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


IN THE HANDS OF THE MASQUERS 

‘The end of life cancels all bonds, 

And I will die a hundred thousand deaths 
Ere break the smallest parcel of my vow.” 

S OME few hours later Anthony walked slowly along 
the Strand towards Fleet Street with intent to visit 
once more the ‘‘Golden Dolphin/’ and, if it might be, to 
learn the whereabouts of Michael Lefroy. 

He felt strangely at peace with the world. All the 
bewildering difficulties that had pestered him for the 
past week were solved at last. Lord Oxford had proved 
himself wondrously accommodating, the order was al- 
ready issued for Wilton’s arrest; Sylvia would no longer 
have cause to fear. The means to free his prospective 
bride from their betrothal, to soften the heart of Lady 
Sophia, and to redeem his bond had fallen miraculously 
to his hand, for the Masquers would assuredly see to it 
that the betrayer of their comrade paid the penalty of 
death. He had no longer need to question whether Syl- 
via would ever learn to love him, whether she would wel- 
come or weep at his death; for her sake he had broken 
faith and played traitor; he was going now to pay the 
price. 

So he strolled along by the river in great peace of 
mind and smoked a pipe with infinite contentment. 

He had not seen Sylvia since the morning, he could 
not trust himself with her again; for the same reason 
he would not think of her now — he dared not weaken 
his courage. He gazed southward across the shining 
280 


IN THE HANDS OF THE MASQUERS 281 

river, where the low sun painted a pathway of gold, and 
recalled the little Duchess far away by the fountains 
at Versailles. He thought of her with a smile in his 
eyes and a low laugh of tender amusement. There be 
some who have said hard things anent this fair Marie 
Adelaide, yet a woman whose memory makes a man laugh 
as he walks to his death is assuredly not one to be judged 
by narrow standards. 

Of Louise, who sat gazing upon that same river at 
Chelsea and praying for the safety of the man she loved, 
he never thought at all. But then Louise never asked 
for his thoughts. 

It was growing chilly when at last he turned away 
from the river and passed into the medley of narrow 
alleys behind the Fleet. Twilight had fallen when he 
reached the door of the ‘ ‘ Golden Dolphin. ’ ’ 

He noted that the little tavern wore its wonted air of 
sleepy obscurity, but a single rushlight burned in the 
window of the inner room and a couple of horses were 
tethered by the door. As he paused for a moment be- 
fore entering, the door was suddenly opened and Tom 
Eccles himself appeared upon the threshold. He nodded 
at Anthony in friendly wise. 

^^Well met, sir. The Captain was asking for you but 
a half-hour since. I was even now setting out to find 
you.’' 

‘Ms Lefroy here?” Anthony asked quickly. 

Eccles laughed. ‘‘Not he. Michael Lefroy has small 
love for the streets o’ London. But come, he is waiting 
for us. Your coming here has saved me an hour.” 

Anthony followed Eccles without further question, and 
at his suggestion mounted one of the horses tethered 
without. They rode rapidly through the streets and 
presently emerged into the open country of Hampstead. 
The heath lay dim and silent about them. For twenty 
minutes they galloped due north and then drew rein 


282 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


before a small house standing in a grove of trees on the 
highest ridge of the heath. The front of the house wa^ 
dark and silent, but Eccles led the way round to the 
gate in the courtyard behind. Here they were met by 
a groom, who took their horses and disappeared with 
them in the shadow of the trees. Anthony noted that 
the windows in the upper story of the house were open, 
and a subdued sound of men ’s voices and laughter floated 
down. 

‘^The Captain is here and half a dozen o’ the Com- 
pany,” explained Eccles. ‘^We have business on the 
road to-night.” 

He strolled into the house and, turning abruptly to the 
right, pushed open the door of a small stairway and mo- 
tioned to Anthony to ascend. 

Anthony mounted the stairs, which opened into a 
small room, fllled to overflowing with men sitting at their 
ease and smoking peacefully. He was struck by the 
peculiar resemblance between them : all were thin, wiry, 
clean-shaven, without an ounce of spare flesh on their 
bones ; all were singularly quick and quiet in their move- 
ments, and as he entered each man appraised him from 
top to toe in one swift, penetrating glance. 

The room was panelled up to the ceiling. Anthony’s 
sharp eyes noted that it contained flve doors, all panelled 
like the walls, and almost invisible through the haze of 
tobacco smoke. 

Lefroy stood by the window, gazing over the heath at 
the fading sunset lights. He turned at Anthony’s en- 
trance and crossed to meet him with a quick smile. 

‘‘You are very welcome, Claverton. ’Sblood ! man, I’ll 
own I never looked to see you again, the odds were so 
heavy against your success. Tom Eccles here has been 
crowing like a bantam cockerel for having god-fathered 
so famed a rider into our Company. Where is the 
jewel?” 


IN THE HANDS OF THE MASQUERS 283 

“I parted with it a week ago in return for something 
I held of greater value/’ answered Anthony coolly. 

A peculiar change came over Lefroy’s face. The smile 
did not leave his lips, but it was no longer a smile of 
welcome. His lids narrowed and his blue eyes grew 
sharp and bright like pieces of glinting steel. He sat 
down, crossed his legs, and began playing with the hilt 
of his sword. 

must ask you to be more explicit. Sir Anthony,” 
he said politely. ‘‘Are we to understand that the jewel 
was taken from you, or that you parted with it of your 
own sweet will?” 

“I gave it willingly.” 

“Where is it now?” The question was rapped out 
like a pistol shot. 

‘ ‘ To the best of my belief it is in the hands of Robert 
Wilton.” 

Lefroy started. “So!” he murmured thoughtfully. 
Then he continued quickly. “Did you part with it in 
exchange for your life?” 

“No, for a matter of far greater value. There’s small 
need to be more explicit; the terms of the bargain are 
my private affair.” 

Lefroy ’s lips tightened. “ ’Pon my soul, Claverton, 
you take this amazing coolly. I would have you under- 
stand that I do not permit ‘private affairs’ to interfere 
with any matter undertaken at my orders.” 

“I am well aware of that,” answered Anthony quietly. 

Lefroy eyed him shrewdly. “Look you, Claverton, 
you must give us a better explanation of this business. 
You did amazing cleverly in Prance, from all accounts, 
and brought the jewel to London not ten days since 
clamouring for opportunity to hand it over to my keep- 
ing. Now you come here to tell me you have given it 
elsewhere. ’ ’ 

“Pardon me,” interrupted Anthony quickly, “I came 


284 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


here to tell you something of far greater import.” 

‘‘Then for Heaven’s sake speah and have done with 
it!” cried Lefroy impatiently. 

Anthony glanced round at the circle of attentive faces 
and gave a little smile. He spoke slowly and steadily. 

‘ ‘ I came here to tell you that I have denounced Robert 
Wilton as thief, highwayman, and abductor, and the 
warrants are already issued for his arrest.” 

It was characteristic of the Company that at this as- 
tounding speech not a man moved, not a single exclama- 
tion of surprise broke from the circle. Only Lefroy rose 
to his feet with a strange deliberation and an ugly glint 
crept into his blue eyes. 

‘‘ ’Fore Heaven, Claverton,” he said, very quietly, ‘‘if 
what you say is true, you have not another hour to live.” 

Anthony faced him steadily. “It is the truth, sure 
enough. I’ve played traitor to a member of your Com- 
pany, and I’m here — to pay the price.” 

Lefroy gave a muttered imprecation, and shook his 
head. 

“There’s a woman behind this affair, I make no doubt 
on’t,” he said bitterly. “I know what lies betwixt you 
and Wilton, but had any man told me Sir Anthony Clav- 
erton would play traitor to his rival I ’d have given him 
the lie to his face.” 

Anthony flushed. “My honour is my own affair. Cap- 
tain Lefroy. I am prepared to pay the penalty of — 
treachery.” 

“Why, so you shall,” answered Lefroy grimly, “and 
that without delay. But — would to Heaven, Claverton,” 
he muttered huskily, ‘ ‘ would to Heaven it were any man 
but you.” 

He turned away brusquely, and the other men rose 
to their feet; Anthony noted that every pipe had gone 
out. Lefroy glanced round the circle. 

“Pat Macarthy and Joe Eccles, take Sir Anthony a 


IN THE HANDS OF THE MASQUERS 285 

half-mile across the heath and drown him in the pond 
at the cross-roads/’ he said shortly. ^‘It will not be 
necessary to tie him up, I take it he will offer no resis- 
tance. ’ ’ 

Anthony gave a little shiver. ‘‘A plaguy uncom- 
fortable manner of kicking off this planet,” he muttered, 
as he turned to follow his escort. 

Suddenly Lefroy started and held up his hand. 
‘‘Wait!” he said sharply. “What is that?” 

All the men turned their heads to listen. Anthony 
could hear nothing save the soft rustle of the leaves in 
the beech-grove, but the ears of these night-riders were 
well trained to distinguish distant sounds. Tom Eccles 
broke the silence. 

“ ’Tis the Sheriff and his riders, sure enough, and by 
the sound they are coming here!” 

“Now what devil’s whisper warned them we should be 
here to-night?” muttered Lefroy savagely. 

Eccles turned suddenly on Anthony. “Is this more 
of your work, you cursed traitor?” 

Lefroy gave a low laugh. “Egad! your nerves are 
plaguy unsteady, Tom. How could Claverton know of 
this place and of our presence here?” 

One of the men put his head cautiously out of the win- 
dow. “They will be here in three minutes,” he said 
quickly. 

“Faith! they will be very welcome,” answered Lefroy 
gaily. “For my part, I am always honoured by a visit 
from the Sheriff.” 

Pat Macarthy still stood with his hand on Anthony’s 
shoulder. ‘ ‘ Shall I dispatch this gentleman before they 
come?” he asked stolidly. 

Lefroy shook his head. “No. Tie him up. I’d never 
hurry a gentleman unduly on his last journey. More- 
over, I take it he may prove of vast service to us. ’ ’ 

In a minute Anthony was securely gagged, bound, and 


286 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


placed in the centre o£ the room. Lefroy gave a quick 
succession of orders; the whole company left the room 
and a strange silence settled down upon the house. 

Anthony chafed impatiently under his bonds and 
cursed his inability to take a hand in the fight. Five 
minutes earlier he had been ready to meet his death, but 
now that a hope of escape once more presented itself, 
the desire for life took possession of him. He let his 
thoughts rest upon Sylvia, in all her alluring loveliness, 
and he marvelled how he could ever have found it in 
his heart to submit to a fate that must silence in him for 
ever the memory of her charms. It maddened him that 
he must lie there helpless during the struggle which 
meant life or death to him. He strained his ears in a 
vain attempt to gather what was passing without. 

Presently he realised that the Sheriff and his men had 
surrounded the house; he could hear their horses mov- 
ing in the courtyard below, and the subdued whispers of 
the men. Not a sound came from the Masquers. He 
recognised the voice of Simon Dewhurst, the Sheriff, 
below the window : 

‘‘Plague on’t, our birds have flown! Here’s not a 
mouse stirring.” 

“Ill wager a dozen guineas they are here,” answered 
another. “The fellow, one of Lefroy ’s own men, swore 
positively to the place and hour.” 

‘ ‘ Pah ! he was lying. Lefroy ’s men do not play traitor, 
curse them I In, and search the house. ’ ’ 

Leaving a few men in the courtyard with the horses, 
the others trooped into the house and wandered in desul- 
tory fashion through the lower rooms. Presently, em- 
boldened by the silence, they cautiously mounted the 
narrow stair and entered the room where Anthony lay. 
The Sheriff ’s quick eye caught sight of his bound figure. 

“Hal What’s this?” he asked quickly. Then, as he 
turned him over, he started back with a cry of surprise. 


IN THE HANDS OF THE MASQUERS ^87 

‘‘What, Claverton? What a’ Heaven’s name are you 
doing here?” 

He knelt down beside him and struggled to undo his 
gag. The others crowded round eagerly, a little knot of 
a dozen men in the centre of the wide room. 

Suddenly the walls of the room seemed to slide away 
in half a dozen places. All the doors in the panelling 
were flung wide, and from each one an armed man sprang 
forth and rushed upon the little group huddled round 
Anthony. The surprise was complete. The Sheriff, 
taken at a disadvantage as he knelt beside Anthony, was 
borne down in an instant. For three minutes the rest 
made an ineffective attempt to defend themselves; they 
were forced slowly across the room towards the stairway, 
and once there they broke and fled. Meanwhile, the men 
below, hearing the commotion, chose this moment to come 
to their comrades’ succour; the two parties encountered 
one another in the darkness of the stairway and the con- 
fusion was complete. When three of the Masquers ap- 
peared at the foot of the stair and cut off retreat the at- 
tackers realised that the game was up and discreetly sur- 
rendered. 

Lefroy returned to the prostrate form of the Sheriff 
lying beside Anthony and stooped over him anxiously. 
A look of relief crossed his face. 

“Praise the saints. Your Honour is not dead,” he said 
pleasantly. “I trust that blow on the head in no way 
impairs Your Honour’s excellent memory.” 

The Sheriff eyed him with a grim smile. He was over- 
powered and helpless in the hands of these men who held 
him their enemy ; but he was fearless to the end. 

“You rascal!” he said coolly. “You have the better 
of me to-night, but you’ll be laid by the heels one 
day.” 

“In Heaven’s own time,” said Lefroy cheerfully. 
“And if you be the one to effect my capture, why, I 


288 THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 

shall be happy to add to the honour of a brave gentle- 
man. ’ ’ 

A sudden gleam of hope crept into the Sheriff's eyes. 

‘‘What! You are not going to hang me, eh?’’ 

“Not if you choose to buy your life. You can tell 
me something I’d risk my neck to learn, or I should 
have seen to it you left this earth a full ten minutes 
since. I ’m not denying your security is monstrously in- 
convenient to me.” 

“What is it you wish to know?” asked the Sheriff 
slowly. 

Lefroy’s eyes narrowed. “The name of the d d 

traitor who sent you here to-night, ’ ’ he said shortly. 

The Sheriff hesitated. Lefroy continued quickly: 

“ I ’ll not insult you, sir, by bidding you purchase your 
own life at his expense, but I take it you will hold the 
lives of these men here cheap at the price.” 

“You would let them go free if I tell you this name?” 
asked the Sheriff slowly. 

“As sure as I’m a night-rider I’ll hang them all if 
you refuse,” said Lefroy grimly. 

‘ ‘ Then I have no choice, ’ ’ answered the Sheriff slowly, 
but there was a sigh of relief in his voice which filled 
Anthony with sudden envy. 

The Sheriff staggered to his feet. “A man of your 
Company came to me three days since and told me I 
should find you here to-night. His name was Robert 
Wilton.” 

Lefroy made no comment, but an ugly look crept into 
his eyes. He stooped suddenly over Anthony and cut 
his bonds. 

“This gives a new colour to your affairs, Claverton,” 
he said shortly. 

He turned brusquely to his companions and gave some 
sharp orders. In a wonderfully short time the Sheriff 
and his men were bound, gagged, and laid across the 


IN THE HANDS OF THE MASQUERS 289 

floor of the room. Lefroy moved to the doorway and 
looked at the rows of helpless figures and the eyes, angry 
or terrified, which met his. He gave a low laugh. 

^‘A monstrous pretty set o’ swaddling babes,” he said 
mockingly. ^^Your pardon. Sheriff. ’Twould be amaz- 
ing inconvenient to have you riding the roads to-night, 
but ’tis not to be doubted some neighbourly soul will 
find you ere many days be past. Till then, I wish you a 
pleasant sleep.” He bowed low to the prostrate forms 
and strode out of the house. 

Anthony found himself unwillingly forced to hurry 
along in the centre of the troop of Masquers, while they 
crossed the courtyard to the stables. Once more his heart 
was full of hope; he sought Lefroy ’s eyes eagerly for a 
sign of release. 

But Michael Lefroy sat grim and silent upon his horse 
until all were mounted ; then he turned to Anthony. 

‘‘Look you, Claverton,” he said curtly. “The law of 
the Masquers adjudges the penalty of death to all who 
betray their comrades, and though it appears Wilton is 

a d d traitor himself, there’s no denying you’ve 

merited the penalty. Yet seeing the Fates have chosen 
to grant you this respite, I will give you one more chance 
of life. Seek out Wilton, kill him, and bring me back 
the Cordon-bleu within the week, and we will count it 
quits.” 

He motioned with his hand for the men to make way, 
and Anthony, riding slowly out of the courtyard, turned 
his horse’s head for London, a free man once more. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


THE WINNING OP THE BLUE RIBAND 

“And when you would say something that is sad 
Speak how I fell.” 

A ll the way to London, as he rode over the scented 
heath, Anthony drew in his breath with deep sighs 
of happiness, and hummed little snatches of love-songs to 
the twinkling stars. The reprieve was so unexpected, 
this turn of Fortune’s wheel so unhoped for, that, in 
reaction from his former sober resignation, his buoyant 
nature painted the future in rosiest hues. What though 
his wooing of Sylvia was still beset with doubts — he was 
alive to woo her, which was more than he had expected 
a half-hour since. What though the task imposed upon 
him by Lefroy seemed well-nigh impossible of accom- 
plishment — at least, it gave him the opportunity for which 
he had longed, to stand face to face with his enemy in 
a fight for life. Surely Fortune would favour him this 
once, and give him — together with victory over Wilton 
— wits to find the Cordon-bleu and grace to win Sylvia’s 
love. 

The most direct route from Hampstead to Soho Square 
certainly does not lie through Chelsea, nevertheless An- 
thony rode homeward that way. But the hour was late. 
Lady Sophia’s house lay dark and silent in the moon- 
light, no laughing face peeped forth from Sylvia’s case- 
ment. He drew rein by the river a little space and tried 
to picture that golden head, that sweet, fair form lying 
wrapped in sleep behind the shrouded windows; an 
amazingly profitless form of musing, as he realised with 
290 


WINNING OF THE BLUE RIBAND ^91 

a smile of self-mockery and a little tightening of the 
heart-strings while he wondered whether he would ever 
be blessed with a sight of that vision in the flesh. 

The evening, with its varied emotions, had proved ex- 
hausting; to his annoyance, Anthony slept late next 
morning; it was fully eight o’clock before he got to 
saddle. He was conscious that he had little time to 
waste, it was imperative that he should overtake Wilton 
before he crossed the Channel; his difficulties would be 
increased a thousandfold if he were forced to venture his 
neck on French soil in pursuit of his enemy. He held 
no clue to Wilton’s present whereabouts, but resolved to 
turn first to the Heath Farm in hopes of discovering 
whither he had fied. 

Anthony would have given much for one more hour 
with Sylvia, ere he rode forth on this venture which was 
so like to prove his last, yet he dared not spare the time 
to visit the house in Chelsea. But the Fates were merci- 
ful ; as he crossed Hyde Park he espied her in the distance 
riding under the trees with Louise and her guardian. 

In a moment he had galloped to join her, all thoughts 
of the dangers of delay banished from his mind. After 
a hearty greeting, Louise and Sir John rode forward to- 
gether, leaving him alone with his betrothed. He looked 
at her with a smile of greeting. 

‘ ‘ I trust that the world has again donned her gown of 
rose-colour in the eyes of Miss Def raine, ’ ’ he said lightly. 

She laughed a trifle nervously, as she answered : ‘ ‘ I do 
my diligence to behold it in no other, thereby taking 
ensample from Mrs. Carew.” 

His face grew gentle. ‘‘You could find no braver 
school wherein to study,” he said heartily. 

Under the shadow of her hat-brim, Sylvia’s face grew 
grave. 

Presently Anthony continued slowly : ‘ ‘ There ’s a rare 
virtue, madam, in giving the Past the go-by, and painting 


292 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


the Future in the rainbow hues of Hope. There is 
nought saps the courage like a shadow from behind.’’ 

‘‘Yet surely there are some things it is well to remem- 
ber,” argued Sylvia, in a low voice. 

“Only such as can bring a smile to the eyes and a 
laugh to the lips, madam,” he answered emphatically. 

“Then do you hold nothing meet for serious thought?” 

“Only two things — Love, and the colour of a gown,” 
he answered lightly. “And even love is rendered more 
tasty by a spice o’ laughter.” He thought of the little 
Duchess, with a smile in his eyes. 

Sylvia shook her head. “There is one matter you 
have not considered, which may neither be forgotten, 
nor remembered with a laugh,” she said gravely. 

“Of what do you speak?” 

“Of Dishonour.” 

Anthony rode for a minute in silence, then he stooped 
and peered under the brim of her hat. “Mistress Syl- 
via,” he asked gently, “are you still haunted by the 
memory of Robert Wilton?” 

She nodded. “Would you have me forget — so soon?” 
she asked reproachfully. 

“I would have you do one of two things, madam,” he 
answered sternly. ‘ ‘ Either put him out of your thoughts 
for ever or — marry him.” 

“Marry him?” She looked up with a startled glance. 

“Ay, if you still have love in your heart for one who 
is a proved traitor,” he said bluntly. 

She made no reply. Anthony’s heart beat quickly. 
He leaned towards her, resting his hand on her horse’s 
neck. 

“Do you still love him, madam?” he asked, a little 
breathlessly. 

She turned away her head. Her voice was so low that 
he could scarce hear her words : 


WINNING OF THE BLUE RIBAND 293 


‘‘I do not think I ever loved him. It shames me now 
to think on it, but — I do not think I knew what Love 
meant — then. ’ ’ 

Anthony sat back in his saddle and looked at her 
doubtfully. His heart beat fast with sudden hope. Sir 
John Defraine's voice at his elbow brought him back to 
earth. 

must pull rein for home, Claverton. You will 
ride with us and wait upon her ladyship?’’ 

But Anthony recollected of a sudden the errand upon 
which he was bound. He shook his head. 

fear I have affairs of moment to attend to. Com- 
mend me to Lady Defraine.’^ 

Sir John looked ill-pleased at this refusal. ‘‘Egad! 
in my day a man would not have permitted affairs to 
hinder his attendance on a lady,” he grumbled. “Come, 
Sylvie, we must hasten. It grows late.” 

Sylvia hesitated. “Shall — shall we see you this even- 
ing, Sir Anthony?” she asked slowly. 

“I — I cannot say, madam,” he stammered doubtfully. 
“There are certain matters ” 

Sylvia’s little chin was suddenly tilted with an air of 
proud defiance. “Now I think on’t. Sir Harry Ford 
desires to escort us to the Italian Opera,” she said coldly. 
“We could not receive you this evening. Good day.” 

She cantered away without another word, and Sir John 
rode after her, chuckling joyfully. 

But Louise lingered a moment, looking at Anthony 
with anxious frown. 

“Is all well?” she asked quickly. 

He looked into her steady eyes and the shadow of dis- 
appointment faded from his face. 

“All is well,” he answered quietly, “if Heaven will. 
If not — guard my memory. Adieu.” 

She asked no more ; she was never one to hold a man 


294 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


back from the course he judged the right. With a 
prayer on her lips she turned away and left him to the 
mercy of Heaven. 

So he rode, through the sweet-scented country, all 
green and golden in the glory of the new life of Spring, 
rode to match his skill against one of the most cunning 
swordsmen in Europe. But though his eyes were grave 
and his lips set in stern resolution, his heart beat with 
a good courage and he still ^‘painted the future with 
the rainbow hues of Hope.” For be a man the greatest 
swordsman living, his foot may slip, his hand may falter, 
and victory crown the weaker at the bidding of Provi- 
dence. If Love and Hope and the desire for life can 
arm a man to conquest, then Anthony knew himself 
weaponed indeed. 

As he rode through the village of Apsden which lay 
in the valley two miles from One Tree Farm, he sighted 
the farmer himself, seated outside the little village hos- 
telry. Abruptly he drew rein and hailed him. 

^^Can you put me on the track of Robert Wilton?” he 
asked hurriedly. 

The farmer stared at him a moment open-mouthed, 
then he rose and crossed to his side. 

“What do you want wi’ him?” he asked slowly. 

“That is no affair of yours. Do you know where he 
is?” 

The farmer scratched his head, still staring curiously 
at Anthony. 

“Ay,” he said slowly, “I know, but ” 

“A couple of guineas if you put me on his track,” said 
Anthony, drawing out the money. 

The farmer looked to right and left in a curious fright- 
ened way. 

“Best let him be,” he muttered. “There’s small good 
to come o’ seeking him now.” 

Anthony gave an exclamation of impatience. “I can* 


WINNING OF THE BLUE RIBAND 295 


not wait here all night till you find your tongue. Will 
you earn the guineas or noT’ 

The man shook his head, with a frightened look in his 
eyes. you mun ha’ it, he is at the Farm yonder. 
But ” 

Anthony flung down the money and put spurs to his 
horse; the farmer shouted after him, but he paid no 
heed, he was heading straight for his goal. 

And now his face grew grave and his eyes alert, for 
the hour was near when he must stand face to face with 
his enemy in a fight to the death. Yet there was a gleam 
of excitement in his eyes and triumph in his heart; he 
had longed for this hour since first he encountered Wilton 
in the inn at Birdlip. 

The farm seemed strangely silent and deserted when 
he dismounted and tethered his horse at the gate; no 
form appeared at the half-open door, no faces looked 
from the windows. The courtyard was empty of live 
stock, no sounds were heard from the stables, no move- 
ment stirred in the barns. 

As Anthony crossed the yard in the blaze of the noon- 
day sun, this unwonted silence oppressed him with a 
dark sense of foreboding; it was as though a spirit of 
brooding Fear haunted the place. He paused at the 
door and shouted Wilton’s name; his voice echoed round 
the empty yard and was flung back at him from the 
blank wall of the house. Then again fell the strange, un- 
earthly silence. 

He pushed wide the door and strode into the empty 
kitchen. The sense of oppression was stronger here, in 
the close atmosphere of the house ; he felt in the presence 
of an unknown, unspeakable horror. The room was dirty 
and disordered ; the hearth strewn with ashes ; a strong, 
sickly smell tainted the air. Outstretched upon the table, 
its head near an empty saucer, he noted with a shock 
of disgust the dead body of a cat. 


296 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


He crossed the room and laid his hand upon the latch 
of the door, which opened on to the cupboard stair. 
And there he paused. For the strange terror which 
haunted the place lay heavy on his heart; it was not 
merely the close atmosphere, not merely the unnatural 
stillness, the very air of the place seemed charged with 
an unnamable horror; he knew assuredly that in the 
room at the top of that dark stairway some strange dread 
thing was silently awaiting his coming. 

He could not comprehend these fears that oppressed 
him. Was his nerve deserting him now, at this critical 
hour, when a cool brain and steady hand were essential 
to success? He threw back his shoulders in fierce de- 
termination to conquer this inexplicable cowardice, loos- 
ened his sword in the sheath, and with grim, set face, 
mounted the stairway and pushed wide the door into 
the upper chamber. 

On the threshold he paused in sudden enlightenment ; 
the fetid atmosphere, the thin, sickly smell, the huddled 
form stretched on the bed in the centre of the room, had 
he not seen it all before, down at his own village of Clav- 
erton in the plague-haunted weeks of the spring? In a 
flash he realised it all, understood the horror that hung 
about this deserted house, — the figure on the bed was 
a victim to the loathsome plague of smallpox. 

For a minute he stood irresolute on the threshold, then 
rigidly suppressing a little shiver of fear, he crossed 
to the window, flung wide the casement, and turned to 
the form on the bed. 

It was not without difiSculty that he recognised in 
those disfigured features the handsome face of Robert 
Wilton. The man had been dead some hours. The 
people of the farm had fled in terror at the first signs 
of the disease; deserted and helpless he had fought his 
unequal fight with Death, and in those last hours of 


WINNING OF THE BLUE RIBAND 297 


loneliness and suffering he had paid to the full the price 
of his treachery. 

Awe-struck and pitiful, Anthony gazed down upon the 
dead form of the man whom in life he had so heartily 
hated. Reverently he straightened the limbs and cov- 
ered the disfigured face. As he stooped over the bed 
his glance fell upon a blue ribbon hanging below the cov- 
erlet ; he drew it forth and gave a little start of surprise. 
It was the Ribbon and Cross of the Cordon-bleu, but 
twisted round the ribbon, gleaming softly in the sunshine, 
was a long golden curl. They had lain thus together 
by the dead man’s hand, the stolen jewel and the lock 
of hair, symbols of the Love and the Ambition which had 
fought for the mastery in his life. 

Anthony gazed down at the golden curl and for a mo- 
ment a sudden passion of jealousy stirred his heart, but 
instantly a wave of pity swept all bitterness from his 
thoughts. This man had loved Sylvia, had striven for 
her and lost her; here he lay, unloved, unpitied, with 
none so poor to do him reverence. 

Quietly he disentangled the curl from the Blue Rib- 
bon, placed it in the dead man’s hand, and closed the 
fingers gently over that token of love. He stood a few 
minutes by the bedside with bowed head and lips moving 
in prayer ; then he passed softly from the room, leaving 
Robert Wilton to his last, long sleep. 


CHAPTER XXX 


A BACHELOR THE LESS 

‘Thou art my life, my love, my heart. 

The very eyes of me, 

And hast command of every part. 

To live and die for thee.” 

F or ten days Anthony did not present himself at 
Lady Sophia’s house in Chelsea, and consternation 
reigned supreme. Peter, to be sure, had received a brief 
note from him, explaining that he had come in contact 
with smallpox and waited in the country until all danger 
of carrying the contagion was over, and this message he 
duly delivered to Lady Sophia. But neither the severe 
old lady nor her crony, Sir John, would credit a word of 
it. ’Twas all one, they declared, with Anthony’s lag- 
gard love-making, with his reluctance to fix a day for his 
wedding; this was but one more excuse to escape the 
bonds of matrimony. In vain Peter vouched for his 
friend ’s good faith ; in vain Louise protested against this 
condemnation of the absent. Sir John turned a deaf 
ear to their arguments, swearing roundly that he would 
never give his niece to so insolent, so unready a suitor, 
and Lady Sophia lent hearty support to his resolution. 

To the amazement of Louise, Sylvia yielded without 
protest to Sir John’s advice to give so cold a lover his 
dismissal, and agreed readily with Lady Sophia’s sug- 
gestion that the betrothal be cancelled; only she dis- 
played a remarkable lack of indignation against Anthony 
and excited her godmother’s scorn by her meekness in 
face of such heartless conduct. Like Sir John, she gave 
no credit to Peter’s explanation of his friend’s neglect. 
298 


A BACHELOR THE LESS 


299 


Had not Anthony promised to find means to end their 
counterfeit betrothal without need of explaining its na- 
ture? She believed that this inexplicable absence, so 
well calculated to anger her guardians, was part of a 
carefully devised plan to fulfil that promise. Believing 
this, what could she do save submit and give his scheme 
all the help she might? 

But Louise, watching her closely, noted that Sylvia’s 
cheeks grew paler, her eyes graver, her air more listless 
as the days went by. Loyal to her promise to ‘‘guard 
his memory,” she broke through the barrier of reserve 
that lay betwixt them, and spoke to the girl of her absent 
lover. 

“When does Lady Sophia purpose that your wedding 
with Sir Anthony shall take place?” she asked one day, 
with an air of seeming innocence. 

Sylvia flushed crimson. “It will not take place,” she 
answered briefly. 

Louise eyed her reproachfully. “Of a surety, child, 
you will not prove so cruel as to dismiss one who has 
served you so faithfully,” she urged. 

The girl lifted her heavy eyes. “I do not conceive he 
would mislike such a dismissal,” she said in a low voice. 
“He has given me no cause to suppose that he desires 
my hand in marriage.” 

‘ ‘ No cause ! ’ ’ cried Louise. ‘ ‘ Are you not betrothed ? ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ He — he plainly desires his freedom, ’ ’ faltered Sylvia. 
‘ ‘ Does he not seek every occasion to avoid my company ? 
Would you have me wed him against his will?” 

Louise rose to her feet, her eyes flashed with indigna- 
tion. 

“Do you, then, know him so little, you who have 
won his love, as to hold it possible that he would stoop 
to means so low to win his freedom? For shame, girl, 
for shame ! No man on this earth is so pure in honour, 
so tender to women, so loyal in service as Anthony Clav- 


300 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


erton. I tell you, the woman who holds his love has a 
treasure beyond all price.’’ 

She stopped abruptly. Sylvia had risen slowly to her 
feet; her eyes were wide with misery, her little white 
hands held out in pathetic entreaty to stem Louise’s 
anger. 

‘‘Do you think I do not know that?” she said hoarsely. 
‘^That and more — ah, so much more, now that it is — 
too late.” 

With a strangled sob she hurried from the room, leav- 
ing Louise to ponder sadly the meaning of her words. 

That afternoon Anthony returned to London and rode 
straightway out to Chelsea to wait upon Sylvia. He rode 
with a smile in his eyes and laughter on his lips. Life 
was grown on a sudden very sweet. All his difficulties 
were at an end ; he had won the guineas for the Cordon- 
bleu and cleared his shoulders of the debt that had 
weighed so heavily upon them; he had settled his ac- 
count with the Masquers; he rode now, his heart afire 
with hope, to learn the meaning of those whispered words 
of Sylvia’s: did not know what Love meant — then.” 

And since Fortune had proved so kindly and crowned 
with success all his undertakings, he rode with happy 
confidence on this last, this most joyous quest. 

But when he entered his aunt ’s withdrawing-room, and 
encountered the grim looks of Lady Sophia and Sir 
John Defraine, when he looked at the still, cold face and 
averted eyes of Sylvia, on a sudden his confidence de- 
serted him. He came abruptly to a halt, and stammered 
forth his greetings and his apologies with such an em- 
barrassed mien as served to convince all three hearers 
that his excuses were false. 

Lady Sophia was never one to waste time on words. 
She cut short his explanation of his absence with a snort 
of contempt. 

‘ ‘ I tell you frankly. Nephew Anthony, I do not credit 


[A BACHELOR THE LESS 


801 


a word of this fol-de-rol of smallpox and ^affairs of im- 
port.’ ’Tis all one with your laggard wooing o’ this 
child. Sir John and I will by no means consent to give 
her hand to one who values it so lightly, so take your 
leave and go your ways and let us see no more o’ ye.” 

Anthony stood dumbfounded. ‘‘What a’ Heaven’s 
name has happed?” he gasped. 

“So much, that were I a younger man I should call 
you. to account,” stormed Sir John. “I give my niece 
to no light-o’-love with a wench in every county, and a 
nod to spare for his wife once a twelvemonth.” 

“Chut! John,” interposed Lady Sophia quickly, 
marking the angry light in her nephew’s eyes. “Your 
tongue aye runs away with your judgment. The long 
and the short of it is. Nephew Anthony, we do not hold 
you meet mate for this child here, so give her back her 
troth and go your ways. ’ ’ 

But Anthony threw up his head and faced his aunt 
resolutely. “That will not I until Miss Defraine her- 
self bids me,” he said, with cheerful defiance. 

To his surprise, Sylvia stepped forward. “I do bid 
you,” she said in a firm voice. “I desire that our be- 
trothal be ended.” 

Anthony stared at her. She did not meet his eyes, 
but her face was very cold, her mouth resolute. Slowly 
the light died from his eyes, the hope from his heart. He 
stood a minute silent, and in that minute all his glorious 
castles in the air crumbled to ashes, all his rosy dreams 
of the future faded in the mists of despair. He dropped 
his hand with a little gesture of resignation and bowed 
his head. 

“So be it, madam. I cannot dispute your wish. I — I 
accept my dismissal.” 

He turned without another word and walked quietly 
out of the room. 

He waited two or three minutes in the hall below while 


302 THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 

a servant fetched his horse. He heard his name called 
softly, and turning, encountered Louise running hur- 
riedly down the stairs. 

‘^Sir Anthony!’’ she cried breathlessly, ‘‘you — ^you 
have left your hat in the withdrawing-room. ” 

“My hat!” stammered Anthony, staring down at the 
hat he held in his hand. 

“Yes,” said Louise unblushingly. “I entreat you go 
yourself to seek it.” 

“But — my hat is here,” he answered blankly. 

Louise snatched his hat impatiently out of his hand. 

“No matter!” she cried eagerly. “Go yourself to 
seek it above.” Then, as he still stood hesitating, she 
gave a little stamp of her foot. “Do you not under- 
stand? Sylvia loves you — loves you. She is breaking 
her heart because she believes ’tis your desire to be free. ’ ’ 

He seized her arm in a grip that made her wince. 
“Are you sure of this?” he asked hoarsely. 

Louise lifted a face half tears, half laughter. “If you 
doubt me,” she answered quickly, “go seek your hat in 
the withdrawing-room.” 

Anthony took the stairs three steps at a time. Louise 
looked after him with a strange expression in her eyes. 
Then she turned away, her head held proudly, a courage- 
ous smile on her lips. She had paid her debt. 

Anthony pushed open the door of the withdrawing- 
room and entered very quietly. Sylvia was alone. She 
stood leaning against the high chimney-piece, her head 
bowed on her arms, in a great stillness. He crossed the 
room softly and stood beside her. 

“Mistress Sylvia.” 

She swung round on him in an instant, her face 
crimson with blushes; he noted that her grey eyes were 
all amist with tears. 

“What do you seek here?” she asked unsteadily. 

“My hat,” replied Anthony firmly. 


A BACHELOR THE LESS SOS 

^‘Your hat!’’ She gazed about her blankly. do 
not think it is here.” 

‘‘No,” he replied truthfully. do not think it is.” 
will go call the servant,” she muttered, moving 
towards the door. 

He laid his hand on her arm. ‘ ^ Do not go, madam. I 
have a story to tell you.” 

She stopped. He felt her arm tremble at his touch. 

‘‘A story?” she whispered. 

‘‘Ay, madam, of a man who rode down a-wooing to 
Gloucester and there fell under the enchantment of a 
nymph of the woods. He gave her all his heart. Mistress 
Sylvia. ’Tis hers to-day; it will be hers to all eternity.” 

She did not answer, only she clasped her fair white 
hands tightly together and bowed her head till her curls 
fell about her blushing face. 

“I would crave leave to tell you this story, madam,” 
he continued softly. “But I fear ’twould tax your 
patience, for I think it would take a lifetime to tell all 
the tale of his love for her.” 

She lifted her head a trifle, and he saw a happy little 
smile playing round her perfect lips. 

“Is his love, then, so great?” she asked slowly. 

“So great. Mistress Sylvia, that* when she sent him 
from her he had no courage left to face his life. ’ ’ 

“Perchance,” she whispered softly, “she thought ’twas 
his desire to leave her, his desire to end their betrothal. ’ ’ 

He seized her hands and stooped to see her face. His 
voice shook a little as he answered; 

“How could you dream I did not love you, Sylvia? 
How could you dream I would give you up save at your 
command? Is it your desire, indeed, to break the bond 
betwixt us?” 

She stood a moment silent, then she nodded her head. 

“Yes, it is my desire.” 

Anthony dropped her hands and stepped back. But 


304 * 


THE KING’S BLUE RIBAND 


on the instant she lifted her eyes to his and he saw they 
were alight with laughter and with love. 

^‘It is my desire,” she repeated demurely, because I 
— I can no longer endure to be betrothed to you — ^in 
counterfeit.” 

In an instant Anthony’s arms were about her and he 
was proving to the hilt his right to a reputation for 
thoroughness. 

‘‘What a’ Heaven’s name does this mean?” Lady 
Sophia stood in the doorway, a picture of shocked sur- 
prise. 

Anthony turned to face her ; the smile on his lips, the 
joy in his eyes moved her to sudden kindly laughter, as 
he made answer: 

“It means, madam, with your good leave, that on the 
twentieth o’ this month the world will be the blyther 
for a bachelor the less.” 


THE END 


A 


lihG /G 


\ 




